


Grace of God

by Isabella2004



Category: Ashes to Ashes (UK TV)
Genre: Angst, Drugs, Gen, Murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isabella2004/pseuds/Isabella2004
Summary: In November 1988 Gene Hunt and Alex Drake are murdered in their own home. Their daughter Lucy is the only survivor. Fifteen years later bitter drug-addict Lucy overdoses and wakes up three days before the murder. Can she save her parents and herself?I previously posted this story on another site a few years ago. I'm hoping re-posting it here might inspire me to complete it!I own nothing you recognise.
Relationships: Alex Drake/Gene Hunt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

2003

I'm dying for a hit.

I had one a few days ago after one of the other girls managed to get some gear smuggled in. I don't know how she managed to do it, given the strict searches they carry out in Holloway, but I was grateful to her for being willing to share with me. Not that she really had much of a choice once I found out she had some. I think back to her expression when I confronted her. Defiance mingled with fear. It hadn't taken long to persuade her that it was in her best interests to share.

It was just what I needed to take the edge off of my symptoms, to stop the shakes and the sweats that have been plaguing me since I was remanded two weeks earlier but it hasn't been enough and I've been restless since last night. I told my cellmate it was just nerves. It's embarrassing to admit that I am so dependent on a drug. A drug that has single-handedly helped me ruin my life.

The girl who was up before me comes back down the stairs into the dim light, her cheap heels clattering on the wooden steps, tears streaking her face. She looks about sixteen and she's shaking uncontrollably. I saw her earlier in the cells but she refused to meet my gaze and spent the whole time fiddling with her hair. I watch as the escort officer leads her back into the cell area behind us and the door slams shut behind them.

"First time in custody."

I look up into the face of the officer I'm shackled to. "What?"

"It's her first time in custody," he repeats. I try to look disinterested. The last thing I want to do is get into a conversation with him. They think they're doing a favour by being nice to you. I start kicking the ground with the toe of my boot, trying to kill time. "It's obviously not yours."

I look up again, "How do you figure?"

He shrugs, "I can just tell these things."

"Good for you."

"Lucy Hunt?"

The voice of the clerk of court echoes down the stairs and I take a deep breath before putting my foot on the first step. It feels like an endless climb but suddenly I am emerging out of the darkness into the bright sunlight of the courtroom. As I follow the officer into the dock, I look down into the well of the court and catch my lawyer's eye.

I feel sorry for Helen. She's represented me for years, ever since my first conviction in front of the children's panel back when I was twelve. She tries her best, but even I know that she is fast reaching the point where nothing she says is going to keep me out of jail.

I turn to face the judge.

"Are you Lucy Hunt?" the clerk asks me.

"Yes," I reply. I sit down on the hard wooden bench and glance around at the public gallery to see who has decided to come to court. I don't expect to see anyone I know but I'm wrong. "Shit," I say before I can stop myself. The officer looks at me and I shrug an apology. Glancing around again I see that I wasn't mistaken the first time. Shaz and Chris are sitting watching me, their faces unreadable. I don't know where to look. I haven't seen either of them for months and they are the last people I wanted to see today of all days. Their presence only compounds how shit I am already feeling.

Helen is talking to the judge, but I can't hear what she's saying. No doubt she's extolling what little virtues I have in a desperate attempt to keep me out of jail. When she came to see me in the cells earlier, she told me that she would do her best but not to hope for too much. I can't disagree with her. I've been remanded countless times in the past, but never actually served a sentence. Today could be the day.

"Miss Hunt really wants to change her life…" I catch a snippet of Helen's plea in mitigation as she turns fleetingly towards me, but then she turns back again and the rest of her words are lost. I look down at my left arm and study the criss-cross track marks caused by years of self-inflicted drug abuse. I try not to touch them for it only makes me want to scratch and if I start bleeding the officers will panic because of my Hepatitis C.

"Miss Hunt, stand up please."

The judge is talking to me, so I get to my feet to face him. Here it comes. Helen told me to expect at least six months.

"I've listened to what Miss Nixon has said on your behalf…and I am prepared to give you one final chance to prove to me, and this court, that you are motivated to change your life. I'm therefore placing you on probation for a period of two years with a requirement that you attend drugs counselling as and when directed by your probation officer." He takes off his glasses and looks at me. "This really is your last chance Miss Hunt. Do you understand?"

I nod, unable to speak, so great is my surprise. He nods and then, before I have time to really compute what he's said, I am being led back out of the dock and back down the stairs to the cells where I am put in with the young girl from earlier. She's sitting in the corner of the cell, her knees drawn up to her chest, sobbing into her folded arms. I keep thinking that I should say something to her, but what is there to say? Just looking at her I can tell she'll be the first to take a beating in Holloway.

"Lucy Hunt!"

The cell door swings open and I am being ushered out, handed my belongings and some paperwork and, moments later, am standing at the back entrance of the court, blinking in the midday sunshine. I look down at the paper in my hand and see that I have an appointment at the social work department tomorrow. It won't be the first one. I must have gone through at least five probation officers in the last five years.

"Lucy!" Hearing my name, I turn to see Shaz and Chris at the corner. They hurry towards me, or rather Shaz does. Chris is slower these days since the chemotherapy really took it out of him. "I can't believe you got out!" she says, stopping in front of me.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say, squinting at her.

"It's just that….we spoke to your solicitor and…"

"Yeah well," I interrupt, looking down at the pavement.

"I'm pleased," she continues, but her tone is guarded.

I look up, "Are you?"

"Of course I am," she says, "we both are, aren't we Chris?" As usual, she doesn't give him a chance to respond. "But Lucy, you have to listen to what the judge said."

"I did."

"I mean really listen."

"I did!" I reply like a petulant child. "I'm not stupid, Shaz, despite what you might think."

She looks hurt and a very small part of me instantly regrets what I've said. "I've never thought you were stupid, Lucy, you know that. You've got the best of both your parents. You could be anything you wanted to be if you put your mind to it."

"Like what?" I ask. "A police officer like them? Like you?" She doesn't reply. "I didn't think so." I reach into the clear bag containing my belongings and pull out a packet of cigarettes. Lighting one, I take a long drag and then blow the smoke out into the air. "I should go," I say, suddenly desperate to get away from them.

"Are you going back to your flat?" she asks.

"Where else would I go?" I reply sourly. To my satisfaction, she looks slightly embarrassed. I should feel guilty but I don't. She was the one who told me to leave her house after promising me that she and Chris would always look after me. If she feels bad about it now, why should that be my problem?

"Have you got money to get home?" Chris speaks for the first time. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet.

"I'm fine," I say. He holds out a tenner and I'm tempted. Not for bus fare, but for a hit. "I said I'm fine. But thanks," I add quickly. I can see the number eleven bus coming down the street towards us. "This is my bus so…"

"Will you come and see us?" Shaz says. "It's Julie's birthday next week and…"

"Maybe," I reply, holding out my arm to stop the bus.

"She'd love to see you."

"I'll try," I flash her a quick smile as the bus stops beside us. "Bye then." Before she can say anything further, I hop on board, drop some change, grab a ticket and head for the back of the bus. I glance out of the window in time to see Shaz and Chris's faces disappear out of view before taking a seat right at the back next to a woman who looks at my bag of belongings and then at me, disapproval marrying her middle class features. She clearly understands where I've come from.

When I get back to my flat, I find two weeks worth of junk mail behind it and a terrible smell from milk long soured. I scold myself for not being better prepared, then I remember that I didn't have a chance to come home between being arrested and being remanded. I kick the mail to one side and move through into the living room where dirty dishes still lie on the floor and overflowing ash trays litter the coffee table. It momentarily disgusts me that I live like this, but it is short-lived.

I need a hit.

It is summer and the dealers don't care who sees them. To a passer-by, they might simply look like people lounging on the estate in the afternoon sunshine. Those of us who know them, know better.

Despite the sunshine, I'm cold, another sign of my need. So I wrap a sweater around me before venturing outside again. Johnny is waiting only a few feet away from my door. He must have seen me come back.

"Lucy," he greets me warmly, "welcome back."

"Thanks," I reply.

"Tenner bag?" he asks casually. I nod and he reaches into his pocket, lifting out the magic drug. I scrabble in my pocket and wish I had taken the tenner from Chris. "If you haven't got it…" he says.

"I do," I say quickly.

"Look, I know you're just out of Holloway. You can have this one on credit." He holds it out to me. "Pay me tomorrow." I look from him to the bag and back again. You can never trust dealers. Owing them a tenner today means you owe them a score tomorrow. But I know that I won't be able to get through the night without something, so I reach out and take it, trying to ignore my trembling fingers. He smiles knowingly. "Don't use it all at once."

I nod my thanks and hurry back to the flat, closing and double-locking the door behind me. You can't be too careful on this estate and after what happened to my parents…

I hurry into the bedroom to prepare. As it hisses away, I lift the belt and wrap it tightly around my arm, surprised to actually find a useable vein. As I draw the liquid into the syringe, I think back to the first time I ever tried heroin. I couldn't bring myself to inject, so my 'boyfriend' did it for me. I'm not sure I ever thanked him for putting me on the road to hell.

As I touch the needle to my arm, I look up briefly and catch sight of the photograph of my parents on the bedside table. It was taken at the annual Metropolitan Police Dinner Dance three months before they died. Mum is wearing a navy blue velvet dress and Dad has on a tuxedo. They look happy together. I wish it was how I remembered them, but every time I close my eyes, all I can see is them on their knees, Dad begging the gunman to shoot him and spare Mum. I try to block it out, but all I can hear is the screaming.

The needle slides into my arm like a knife through butter and it takes mere seconds for the drug to enter my bloodstream. The feeling is indescribable, like I'm floating, as though all my problems are far below me. It always amazes me how people can say heroin is so bad, when it makes me feel so good.

I can feel myself sinking into the welcoming darkness. I'll sleep tonight and I can think about the future tomorrow.

A future where I will free myself from this drug.

1988

I am sleeping when they come. It's the bang of the front door that wakes me. I lie in bed, clutching Barney Bear and listening to the raised voices. I hear a strange man's voice and then Daddy shouting and Mummy's high pitched scream between them.

Another bang. The smash of glass.

I push the covers off and climb out of bed, still clutching Barney. Tiptoeing to the door, I push it open. Light spills into my room from downstairs and I can hear the voices more clearly.

"Get on your knees."

"Piss off."

"I said, on your knees!"

"Do what he says, Gene."

I move to the top of the stairs but I can't see anything so I slowly move down, one step at a time. My heart is thumping in my chest. Halfway down, I stop. I can see into the living room. Mummy is closest to the door. She is on her knees.

"You think you're so clever, don't you Hunt?" I hear the man talk again. "Well you're going to regret it."

"Look," I hear Daddy again, calmer this time. "You can do what you like to me. But you let my wife go, do you understand?"

The man laughs. I don't like the sound of it.

"Please…"

"Please…" the man is making fun of Daddy. I slide down another stair and now I can see Daddy. He is also on his knees. "I'm in charge Hunt and I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"Shoot me."

"Gene…" Mummy's crying.

"Let 'er go and shoot me!"

I hear a strange sound, like metal being pulled back across metal.

"Oh God…" I see Mummy start to shake.

There is a loud bang.

And then another.

My head is thumping. I cannot believe the pain. My limbs feel so very heavy and when I try to open my eyes, it proves impossible. They appear to be glued shut. I take a breath and am relieved that I am able to. There is a moment, after every hit, when I wonder if I will wake up or whether it will be my last hit. So far so good.

At first there is peace, silence but then suddenly I hear a rushing in my ears and I am assaulted by noise. Cars, people, birds…they all seem so loud. With enormous effort, I am finally able to open my eyes and see nothing but blue sky above me. The light hurts my eyes and I screw them shut, rolling over onto my stomach to get away from it and my face meets cold, hard concrete.

"Bloody 'ell, are you all right?"

The voice is familiar, but I can't place it. The concrete is cool and inviting against my skin and I don't want to roll over again, don't want to open my eyes again.

"Can you 'ear me?" The voice comes again. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I mumble.

"Well you can't lie there all day. You'll catch your death." A hand touches my shoulder. "Can you get up?"

My body feels unfamiliar to me. It doesn't seem to want to do what I ask it and it therefore takes a good thirty seconds before I am able to force myself onto my knees.

"That's it." A hand goes under my armpit and gently pulls me upwards until I am standing. I sway slightly as the blood rushes to my head and I feel myself being steadied. "Careful. Don't want you falling down the steps."

I know the voice.

"Shaz?"

There is a moment of silence before she speaks again, her tone guarded. "Yeah? 'ow did you…?"

I open my eyes and am rewarded. "I'd know your voice anywhere," I say. "But you…" I break off as I take her in. She looks different somehow. For a start, she's wearing a police uniform and her hair is darker. She looks younger too, as though the harsh realities of caring for me haven't yet touched her. "You look different," I say.

"What's your name?" she asks, frowning at me.

"What?" I ask her stupidly. "What do you mean, what's my name?"

"I mean, what's your name?" she repeats.

"It's Lucy," I say. "Who do you think? God sake, I only saw you a couple of hours ago." I sway as my head starts to pound again.

"You look like you could use a cuppa," Shaz says.

"I could use a hit," I reply, half-jokingly.

She looks at me curiously. "Why don't you come inside?" Putting her arm around me she steers me through some doors on my left and I find myself in a small reception area with another policeman standing behind the desk.

"Where are we?" I ask.

"Fenchurch East Police Station," Shaz replies.

"Fenchurch East?" I echo, "but…" I break off as the door at the far end of the corridor flies open, slamming against the wall behind it.

"Shaz, I need you to go through the files on Kevin Donnelly and see if 'e's got any known associates still out and about. There's a few doing long stretches but there might be another couple 'anging around that we don't know about. And do it before my missus asks you. Makes me look efficient."

I think I am about to faint. I know that voice. I know that face. I would know them anywhere.

"Yes Guv," Shaz replies, her arm still around me.

I stare at him. He stares at me.

"Who the 'ell's this?" he asks, his comment directed at her, but his gaze still on me.

"Dunno Guv. Found 'er lying on the front steps. Says 'er name's Lucy."

"She a tom?"

"Oh shit…" is all I manage to say before I hit the floor again.


	2. Chapter 2

I feel strange. As though I am falling from a very great height and there is no sign of a landing. The air rushes past me, so loud that I think it's going to burst my eardrums. I reach out for something to grab onto but there is nothing. I don't understand it. My body has never reacted to a hit this way before. I have had hits where I remember nothing and others which have bred vicious nightmares…but never anything like this.

"Detective Constable Lucy Hunt."

I hit the ground, metaphorically speaking, and instantly snap back to consciousness. Lifting my head, I realise it has been resting on a shiny black table and there is a smudge left behind from the moisture of my skin. Glancing around, I see that I'm in a small room furnished only with a table and four chairs. I recognise it instantly. It's a police interview room. I know because I've been in many of them over the years. The only difference is that they're missing the massive tape machine that makes that terrible high pitched noise so the officers know it's recording.

I'm sitting on the side of the table furthest away from the door. Sitting opposite, looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance, is my father. At least, I think it's him. It's the same man who came through the door barking orders at Shaz and yet…how can it possibly be?

"What?" I say stupidly.

"Detective Constable Lucy Hunt," he repeats, tossing something onto the table in front of me. It falls open and I see that it's a police warrant card with my name and picture and the crest of the Metropolitan Police force. "Same name as my daughter."

I look up and meet his gaze. Silvery blue on silvery blue. Shaz always said that even though I had Mum's dark colouring, I had my dad's eyes. Over his shoulder, I can see Shaz leaning against the wall near the door. "I'm…" I start to speak, but my mouth feels as though it is full of cotton wool.

"I'm Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt. You're my newest recruit allegedly," he says and I find myself stung by his tone. "Needless to say I wasn't expecting you to be found passed out on the steps of my station." He regards me steadily. "Good night was it?"

My head is still aching. "I don't understand," I say, rubbing my temples, my words coming out slightly slurred as though I am drunk. "The last thing I remember…"

"I don't expect my officers to come in to work in the state you're in," he cuts me off. "Especially not on their first day and especially not when they're supposed to be as promising as you."

"Promising?" I echo. It's the first time anyone has paid me such a compliment.

He tosses a file onto the table and I see that my photograph is pinned to the front. I lower my head and squint at it. It doesn't look anything like me, not least for the fact that I'm wearing a police uniform. "First in your class at Hendon," he says. "Top marks in every area, glowing reports from your probationary instructors. So you'll forgive me if this," he gestures at me, "is not what I expected."

I feel my cheeks burning, though I have no idea why.

"Do you understand me?" he asks.

"No," I say, "no I don't understand. I don't know…" I stop and look at him again. My dad. The man who carried me on his shoulders, who read me bedtime stories, who would drive as fast as I screamed at him to go and then make me promise not to tell Mum when we got home.

The person I last saw when I was five years old, being shot in the head right in front of me in our own living room.

I wonder why he can't tell who I am. "Where am I? What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" My questions come out in rush of words.

"You're in Fenchurch East police station," he says, his voice controlled and angry, his eyes hard. "You've been assigned to my team in CID and you are sorely trying my patience."

I look over at Shaz, expecting her to say something, but she doesn't. I look back at him. He's obviously waiting for an answer, some sort of response. I have nothing coherent to give for I don't understand for one second what the hell is going on. "Dad…"

"Dad?" he interrupts me. "I bloody wish I was your dad, cause I'd give you a good 'iding!" Pushing back his chair, he gets to his feet. "I don't 'ave time to piss about in 'ere with you. Get yourself cleaned up and get into my office. We've got work to do." With that, he pulls open the door and disappears through it, allowing it to slam loudly behind him. There is silence, and I am left wondering if I've just imagined our exchange.

I'm left alone with Shaz who speaks for the first time. "I'll see if I can find you something to wear."

"Something to…" I look down and see that I am wearing what can only be described as the ugliest pair of orange hot pants matched with a fluorescent green, long sleeved t-shirt and white trainers. Certainly not what I was wearing when I shot up…whenever that might have been. "Christ…where in God's name…?"

"You can't go into CID looking like that," Shaz says. "I'll show you where the locker room is." She holds out her hand and I take it, allowing her to help me up. My legs still feel weak and I stumble to the door of the interview room and then back out into the corridor. As we are walking to, what I presume is, the locker room, we pass back through the reception area and behind the large black policeman still standing at the desk, I catch sight of a calendar on the wall. Squinting I try to read it, but can only make out that it is November.

"What's the date?" I ask Shaz as she propels me through another door.

"The date?" She looks at me as though I have asked the stupidest question known to man. I nod. "November 2nd."

I stop dead in my tracks. "November 2nd?" I echo.

"Yeah…"

"What year?" My heart is pounding, waiting for her answer.

"1988." The blood rushes to my head again and I put a hand out to steady myself against the wall. "Are you sure you're all right?" I hear Shaz say. "Perhaps we should get the doctor to look at you."

"No, I'm…I'm fine…" I stutter. But I am not fine. If for some inexplicable reason I have found myself here, on November 2nd 1988, then it's only three days until my parents will be murdered.

I faint again.

XXXX

"Well I can't find anything physically wrong with you."

I draw my head up from where it has been between my knees and look at the station doctor through moist eyes. I only passed out for a few seconds and Shaz managed to get me to my feet and into the medical room where I sat, desperately fighting against the nausea threatening to overwhelm me while she fetched the doctor.

He zips up his bag. "Of course, it won't be helping that it looks like you had a skinful last night."

"I didn't…" I start to say, somehow desperate to make people understand that, whatever I am, I am not hungover.

"That's what they all say. Take some coffee and some aspirin if you feel you need it and drink plenty of water." He pauses and looks at me carefully. "I'm not sure how you passed the police medical with arms like those."

I look up at him, confused, then I follow his gaze and see that my sleeves have been pushed up to my elbows and my track marks are readily visible, ugly and red against the paleness of my skin. I push the sleeves back down to my wrists to hide them.

"Not for me to say of course," he continues. "I'll tell DCI Hunt that you're fit for duty today at any rate." He opens the door and pauses to look at me. "Good luck."

Before I can reply, he is gone, the door swishing silently behind him. I manage to get to my feet and, turning, see a pile of clothes lying neatly on the bed beside me. Shaz has obviously managed to procure some from somewhere and, when I lift them, I see a black pencil skirt, a red blouse with a stiff collar and black high heels. Not exactly the kind of thing I'm used to wearing, except for that one time when I was eighteen when Shaz made me dress up for court. It worked too. I only got a fine that time, not that I ever actually paid it. Amazingly, the clothes fit me and I turn to look at myself in the mirror on the wall at the far end of the room.

I am amazed at how it is me, and yet isn't me. I move closer and can't help noticing the dark circles around my eyes and the dullness of my skin. I've never really thought about it before, but heroin has done nothing for my looks. I used to be a size fourteen with curves in all the right places. Now, I am lucky if I fit into a size eight. Heroin has suppressed my appetite over the years and coffee and fags have been my supplements. For the first time in a long time, I feel a sharp sense of sadness at my life and tears spring into my eyes.

I jump as there is a loud knock on the door and Shaz pops her head around it. Her face lights up when she sees me. "You don't 'alf look better," she says. "'ere," she hands me some powder and a hairbrush. I take them from her and brush the pad over my cheeks, instantly covering the blemishes. I pull the brush through my unruly dark locks. My hair is thin and inevitably snaps with each stroke of the brush. When I finally look remotely presentable, I follow her out of the medical room and back through reception towards, what I can only assume is, CID. I feel stronger now, able to walk unaided, but I am unused to high heels and almost trip twice.

"Shaz?" I stop her as she is about to push open the doors.

She turns to face me, "Yeah?"

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?" she frowns.

"Well…"I fight for the right words. "This is one fucking weird trip." She visibly recoils at my language. "Sorry, but…I don't understand why…how I'm here. I mean, a minute ago I'm shooting up in my room in July 2003 and the next…you're telling me it's November 1988 and Dad…" I trail off as I hear his voice on the other side of the door, barking an order at someone. I look at her again, my mouth pumping silently, no longer having the words to explain my confusion.

"Don't worry," she says, reassuringly. "'is bark's worse than 'is bite." She pushes open the door and I have no choice but to follow her inside.

"Ah, Detective Constable Hunt, glad you finally decided to join us." Dad is standing at the far end of the room in front of his office door, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "At least you look a bit more like a police officer now and a little less like a raver."

I barely hear him. I remember this room. I remember it, and yet it seems smaller now than in my memory. It's the ceiling, of course, the focal point of the entire room with its chequerboard of black and white. I used to love staring at it. Mum once told me how fascinating she found it too the first time she ever saw it. She said she hadn't been much older than me, but I had never really understood how that was possible…

There are other things too. The drawing of a lion that I did for Dad and which he dutifully stuck on his office door, proclaiming that, "even at five she knows I'm the bloody Manc Lion."

The cabinet of trophies that I used to love looking at and moving around, trying to read the illegible dates and tracing the letters with my fingers.

The old typewriter on Shaz's desk that she would let me play with while I waited for my parents.

"Who's this then?" I'm snapped out of my reverie and, looking to my left, see Chris sitting at his desk. He looks so much younger, so much fitter than the last time I saw him…and he has the most ridiculous highlights. I had forgotten just how ridiculous, but then it has been ages since we sat down with the photo albums.

"This is our newest recruit," Dad announces to the room. "DC Lucy Hunt."

Chris frowns. "Isn't that the same name as your daughter, Guv?"

"Yes Christopher it is," Dad replies, glaring at me again, "but I can assure you that we are not related. Well," he steps close to me and then does a circuit around me. "Doc says you're fit for duty today."

"Duty?" I echo. For the first time, it dawns on me that he actually thinks I'm a proper police officer.

"Yes it what's we like to call work around 'ere," he replies.

"But I'm not a police officer," I correct him, "I'm…" I pause. What am I? A criminal, a junkie, a thief and a sometimes prostitute. None of which I am particularly proud of but none of which I have felt more ashamed about until now.

"Not a police officer?" he raises an eyebrow as a titter runs around the room behind me.

"No," I say.

He nods and opens his office door. "In," he says, pointing.

Grateful for the fact that we are finally going to be alone, I hurry inside. He follows me and closes the door. I turn to face him again. "Dad…"

"Now you listen to me," he cuts me off. "I agreed to let you come 'ere even though I knew what you 'ad done. I said yes when every other division turned you down because I thought you deserved a second chance. I thought that all those glowing references from Hendon 'ad to mean something." He walks around behind his desk. "Not to mention the fact that there's a selfish element to 'aving you 'ere. Your past associations mean that you know people. Yu should really be able to 'elp us."

If I wasn't confused before, then I most definitely am now. "Look, I don't know what you're talking about…"

"I was told all about it," he continues. "The back 'anders, the 'thank you' bags of brown powder that you shot up your veins in return for turning a blind eye to violent crime and dealing.." He regards me steadily, yet disapprovingly. "Can't really 'ide your past with arms looking like a map of the railway network."

I self-consciously run one hand up my arm.

"But I was also told that that's all behind you now and that you want to make a decent career for yourself in the force. A chance to prove yourself. Isn't that what you told the Chief Constable at your disciplinary?"

I stare at him. I don't even know who the Chief Constable is and the only 'disciplinary' I've ever been to was a breach of community service hearing.

He leans over his desk towards me. "Only you and me know about your past, Lucy. No-one else does and no-one else will, you 'ave my word on it. That's why I gave you a grilling earlier in the interview room in front of Shaz. But you 'ave to be serious about wanting a fresh start. Coppers make mistakes. I know cause I've been one of 'em. But this is your last chance. Stop playing the idiot. Do you understand?"

I balk slightly at the familiar words. Hours ago I was being sentenced and now…now I am apparently, a police officer. I find myself nodding.

"Good," he straightens up. "Well right now, we're trying to catch some drug dealing scum. Should be right up your alley. PC Granger's looked out a bunch of files on the main man, Kevin Donnelly. You might know the name." He looks at me, but I shake my head dumbly. "Ok, well, I want you to go through the files with a fine toothcomb. Find out everything you can about 'im and 'is known associates. Who's doing what and where. Think you can manage that on an 'angover?"

"I'm not hungover," I reply automatically.

"Well you'd better be," he says, "cause if I find out you've been taking anything other than alcohol…" he lets the words hang in the air. "I don't like drugs, Lucy. I've seen them destroy too many families, including my own."

"Uncle Stuart," I whisper, though he doesn't hear me.

"Shaz'll show you to your desk. Briefing at noon." He sits down and, even with my lack of police training, I understand that I am being dismissed.

I turn and open the office door but before I step out, I turn back to look at him, leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk, snakeskin boots… "Don't you even know who I am?" I ask.

He meets my gaze again. "I know who you've been, Lucy. Prove to me that's not who you are." I wait for something more, but there is nothing. He looks down at the paper in his hand and I step outside, closing the door behind me. I turn to see Shaz watching me.

"Your desk's over 'ere," she says, pointing to the vacant one next to her. "That's the files." I look at the seemingly impossible large bundle sat on the table. "If you need any 'elp, just give me a shout."

I walk over to the desk, pull out the chair and sit slowly down. I glance around the room. No-one is looking at me. Everyone is absorbed in their own work. I lift the first file from the top of the pile and open it slowly. No-one reacts. No-one starts shouting about some junkie posing as a policewoman.

"Ok," I say to myself so that only I can hear. "Just go with it Luce, just go with it." Just as I have started to read the first few lines, the main door flies open and slams against the wall and I can't help wondering if anyone is ever quiet here. I hear the angry click of heels on the floor and look up in time to see a woman in blue march into Dad's office, causing that door also to crash back on itself.

"You stupid bastard!" The whole room stops as whoever it is shouts at him.

I know that voice. The file slips from my fingers onto the floor and I quickly get to my feet for a better look. She has her back to me at first, hands on her hips, then she turns and grips the toggle of the blind on his door. For a split second, she looks at me and then pulls it viciously down.

Mum.


	3. Chapter 3

Bonfire Night.

We draw pictures in school of fireworks. Big and bold with bright colours and hissing flames. Mine is pink, purple and red. The teacher says it's really good and puts it up on the wall of the classroom. I'm really pleased and keep glancing at it all day.

The bell rings at three o'clock and Mummy picks me up. Daddy is working as usual. We go home and I get to have some juice and a biscuit and watch television. Mummy says that Daddy won't be late tonight. She says we are going out for burgers and then to the fireworks display in the park. I am so excited I can barely sit still.

Daddy comes home and sweeps me up into a big hug. He asks how school was and I tell him about my picture. He says I must be the most talented girl in the class. I don't know what talented means but I like the sound of it.

Mummy dresses me in my new trousers and my pink trainers. She tells me I have to wear my big coat because it's cold outside. I wait at the front door with Barney. Mummy said he could come too. Mummy and Daddy are arguing in the kitchen about something, but I don't know what. Daddy takes me out to the car and after he straps me into my booster seat, he turns and I see him kiss Mummy. I laugh because they look silly.

We go to Wimpy. I like it there because you get a colouring book. I colour in a picture of a house while we wait for dinner. Mummy and Daddy talk over my head about stuff, but occasionally they look at my colouring and tell me how good it is. I have a cheeseburger, chips and coke. It's yummy, but I can't eat it all so Daddy finishes it. Mummy tells him off and says he'll get fatter. Daddy just laughs and says he knows Mummy likes him cuddly. I know I do.

There's a big bonfire in the park. Mummy says they've been building it for weeks. It's so big that I have to stand really far back to be able to see all the way to the top. When they light it, big orange flames go upwards into the sky. They look really bright in the dark. Daddy buys me a hot chocolate and I tell him that it tastes funny. He tells me he gave me his beer by accident. I love hot chocolate. It warms me up because it's really cold.

The fireworks are brilliant. There are lots of them, really loud and bright. They zoom up into the sky and then go bang. I jump a lot and grab onto Daddy's hand. He tells me that they won't hurt me because we're too far away. Then he lifts me up onto his shoulders so I can get a better look. Mummy and Daddy kiss again. Daddy puts his arm around her and kisses the top of her head.

I wonder if I'll get a baby sister from Santa this year?

When it's finished, we go home and Mummy runs me a hot bath. I play with my ponies and wash their hair and afterwards Mummy dries me in a big fluffy towel, puts me in my pyjamas and Daddy reads me The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. He's really good and always makes me laugh. Mummy sits by the door listening. She tells me that her daddy used to read it to her when she was my age. They both kiss me and then Daddy tucks me in with Barney and sits beside my bed until I fall asleep.

I am sleeping when they come…

XXXX

Bonfire Night.

I wish they had died on a different day, one that just passes every year with no pomp or ceremony. The run-up to Bonfire Night, with all the fuss over Halloween and then the endless adverts for fireworks, always makes me feel cold inside. I suppose it must be the same for people whose relatives die on Christmas Day or New Years Eve. The day is never the same again. Those are the times when I want to get my hands on as much heroin as possible, lock myself in my flat and send myself into a blissful oblivion.

I remember, in the first few years after their deaths, Chris and Shaz trying to take my mind off of what had happened that night. We would go to the local fireworks display and watch as the colours exploded in the sky, loud as gunshots, while the bonfire crackled away underneath. I would clutch Chris's hand and bury my face in his coat so I didn't have to see or hear. I don't think they understood that making a big deal of the occasion only made things worse. It would have been so much easier just to forget.

As the years went by, I found other things to do on Bonfire Night. Drinking, smoking, losing my virginity, messing around, getting chased by the police, running as fast as I could and pissing myself laughing when the overweight, over-the-hill copper had to eventually admit defeat. It was as if I became the Devil himself on that one night every year. As though all my demons were just waiting t be set free. My first conviction was for an offence committed on Bonfire Night. Setting fire to some bins behind Shaz and Chris's house.

Happy days.

XXXX

"Don't you come marching in 'ere all on your 'igh 'orse with me! May I remind you, Mrs Woman, that I am in charge of this department!"

The memories, good and bad, fade suddenly at the sound of my father's voice. I jolt back to reality and realise I am still standing watching the door my mother burst through mere seconds before.

"Oh you haven't even seen my high horse yet, Gene!" Mum shouts back. "Why on earth did you send me on some sodding wild goose chase to the house when you knew you were going to have her picked up?"

"I didn't know!"

"Oh, so Ray just came up with the brilliant idea all on his own did he?"

There is a moment of silence. "Well it's not completely out with the bounds of possibility."

"Oh for God's sake!" The office door flies open again and Mum reappears, her face thunderous. "Sometimes, Gene, I think you do all of this just to piss me off!"

"She's 'is girlfriend," Dad says, "She's involved in 'is operations so, no, I'm not going to 'ave us round there, 'aving tea and bloody biscuits and interviewing 'er in 'er own home as though she was a member of the bloody Royal Family! Interview room will do nicely."

Mum puts her hands on her hips and glares at him, "And you couldn't have decided this before I went all the way there?"

"You didn't tell me you were going! The first I 'eard about it was when Chris said you'd taken off in the Quattro which, by the way, is my car!"

There is a long, strained silence as they simply stand glaring at each other. My eyes dance between them, my parents, arguing in a way I have never really heard before.

Mum is the first to break the deadlock. "We can talk about this tonight."

"Oh bloody joy," Dad rolls his eyes. His gaze meets mine. "Oh, and while you're in a good mood, DI Drake, this is our new DC, Lucy Hunt."

Mum turns to face me and our eyes meet properly for the first time. "Lucy Hunt?" I feel her gaze burning into me and I am transfixed. I wonder if she might guess. If a mother's love and a mother's instinct might make her realise who I am.

"No relation," Dad mumbles.

"No," Mum agrees and flashes me a brief smile, "I'm DI Alex Drake." She steps forward and extends her hand. I stare at it for a few moments and then match her action, closing my hand around hers and marvelling somewhat at how real and warm she feels. "Welcome to the team." I simply stare at her without speaking. She turns back to look at Dad who shrugs slightly. "So where are we with everything else then?" her tone is clipped, officious and Dad glares at her.

"Lucy's going through the files," he says, glancing at me, "or rather she will be if she sits down and actually does it." I feel his reproach and silently lower myself back into my chair. "You and I can go and interview Tracy."

"Something I could have done in far more congenial surroundings if you hadn't been such a pigheaded…"

"Are you going to go on like this all day?" he demands. "Because if so, tell me now so that I can make sure I get completely pissed tonight!"

Mum's response is simply to shoot him a withering look and stride away, back through the door, letting it slam behind her. Dad pauses for a fraction of a second and then follows her out of the room.

I stare at the door, swinging behind him and feel my stomach sink. When I allow myself to think of them, Mum and Dad that is, I always cling to the idea of them being eternally happy, never arguing, never disagreeing. The perfect parents. The perfect family. I use it against myself every time I get into trouble. A mechanism to distance myself from them, to isolate myself, to keep them further and further away from what I have become over the years. To every other twenty year old, the idea that their parents fight and disagree is nothing to get upset about. But for me, it feels like the dismantling, brick by brick, of a carefully constructed image, one I have fought hard to maintain.

Shaz must sense my feelings, as she comes over to my desk and perches on the end of it. For a moment, I am reminded of her sitting on the end of my new bed in my new room in her house. "Don't worry about them, Lucy. They do that all the blinkin' time."

I look up, searching for the familiar comfort in her words. "Do they?"

She nods, "We all thought it would get better once they got married but if anything, it's worse sometimes. Except when they're with little Lucy, that is." She grins broadly. "They love 'er to death. Never argue in front of 'er, though I reckon DI Drake would love to smack the Guv sometimes."

"Bet they 'ave a great time making up though," someone says from across the room and a mostly male laugh goes up.

"Shut up Ray," Shaz glowers and I follow her line of vision.

I didn't notice him when I came in before, but I recognise him instantly…

XXXX

"Again! Again! Again!" I jump up and down in front of Ray, my shoes smacking loudly against the floor, my headband slipping into my eyes. I push it back. "Please!"

"Not again…" Ray replies, though I can tell by the look on his face that he's only kidding me. "You're too good for me, Lucy. And you like making me look silly. Your Dad gave me a funny look when 'e saw me crawling under that table the last time."

I laugh loudly, feeling really happy. I love playing hide and seek with Ray. He's the only who'll play it with me in the station. He always pretends that he can't find me even when I know he's seen me. "Please…" I jump up and down again.

"All right then, on you go." He turns his back on me and covers his eyes, "One, two, three…"

I run out of the room and down the corridor back to the main door where Chocolate Viv lives. I like Chocolate Viv. He always gives me sweets when Mummy isn't looking. He sees me coming and opens the door for me. I run in behind his desk and crouch down so that no-one can see me. It's my favourite hiding place.

"Ready or not, 'ere I come…" I hear Ray's voice, a few moments later, coming from down the corridor and I hear his footsteps coming towards the desk. "All right Viv," he says. "You 'aven't seen little Lucy, 'ave you?"

"Lucy Hunt?" Chocolate Viv says. "Not recently, no."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

I peek my head up slightly to see Ray leaning over the counter looking at me. I squeal loudly and turn to run.

"A-ha! There she is!" He chases after me and grabs me round the waist and up into his arms. I scream and laugh loudly as he throws me over his shoulder, so that my head is facing down towards the floor.

"All right Raymondo? There a reason you're running around the station with my daughter rather than working?" Ray puts me down on the ground and I see Daddy standing with Chocolate Viv.

"Daddy!" I run forward and he scoops me up. I put my arms around his neck and give him a big kiss on the cheek.

"Sorry Guv," Ray steps past Daddy and makes his way back down the corridor, turning to give me a wink as he does so.

"Right then!" Daddy says, looking at me, "Where's Mummy?"

XXXX

"Ray." I say his name, smiling slightly as the memories flood back.

"Yeah?" he looks at me with narrowed eyes.

"Eh, look at that smile," I hear Chris say. "She one of your birds, Ray?"

"No," he replies quickly before squinting at me again. "Are you?"

He is a happy memory. I'm liking this part of the trip. "No," I reply. Then I turn back to the pile of files on my desk and sit back down in front of them. The knowledge that Dad is expecting me to be able to tell the others what I've read in them spurs me to actually focus.

I spend the next few hours going through the files, noting down anything I think might be important. Amazingly, I actually find myself enjoying it and before I know it, Mum and Dad come back from the interview. The tension comes with them and it seems they are still not speaking.

"Right," Dad turns to face us all. "Well we got bugger all from Tracy…"

"Despite your best efforts to intimidate her," Mum says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Lucy," Dad ignores her and turns back to me. "Dazzle us with what you've found in the files."

I feel as though I am glued to my seat, as though I can't make my legs work to push myself up onto my feet. The whole room is watching me and I feel a trickle of sweat run down between my shoulder blades. Despite all my court appearances, public speaking has never really been my forte and my arms start to itch.

"Well come on then," Dad says, raising his eyebrows at me as if to remind me of our earlier chat.

"Oh…yeah, sorry," I finally find the strength to get to my feet and move over to the board at the far end of the room. "Well…" I look down at my scribbled handwriting on the page in front of me and see the letters dance before my eyes. "Donnelly's…" I pause and take a deep breath before continuing. "Donnelly's main associates are Liam Muir…" I turn to write it on the board but find that Shaz has beaten me to it. "Liam Muir," I repeat, "Dave Silver and Mark Fraser. Muir's serving a seven year sentence in Wormwood Scrubs for dealing heroin. Silver and Fraser were released last month after serving three years for armed robber and they were spotted with Donnelly a few days ago at The Bellman…"

"Pub on Slater Street," Chris says helpfully.

I nod at him, "Yeah, it's on Slater Street. A man called…" I squint again at the words on the page. "Al…"

"I reckon she means an informant," Ray says quickly.

I look from him to Dad and back again. "Ummm…yeah an informant called Al…"

"Al James," Dad murmurs.

"Who's Al James?" Mum asks, turning to look at him.

"A bloody good and reliable informant whose closer to Donnelly than you are to your knickers," he replies.

"A source that I've never heard about," she says, ignoring his crudeness.

He opens his mouth to, I assume, deliver a cutting response and I jump in, not wanting to hear them fight any more. "He provided information last week that Donnelly, Silver and Fraser were awaiting a big shipment in the next day or so and that they're planning to flood the streets." I stop and look at him.

"Is that it?" he asks me.

"Well, Al also said that they need Muir to complete the deal. He's apparently up before the parole board tomorrow and they might be intending to try and get him out."

"Well I think we should be doing all we can to stop them, don't you?" The question is directed to the whole room and I find myself nodding along with the others. "I'm not 'aving that poison on my streets. Alex, you and Lucy go and interview Muir in the prison. Let 'im know in no uncertain terms that 'is co-operation is expected rather than requested and that if 'e fancies 'is chances for parole then 'e'll tell us exactly what we want to know."

"No he won't," Mum says, "and you know he won't."

"I may be a lot of things, but I am not bloody psychic!" Dad snaps. "Just do it. It gets 'er out of 'ere," he gestures to me. "Put some colour in 'er cheeks."

"Fine," Alex says, sweeping towards the door. "Lucy?"

XXXX

"Lucy? Lucy!"

Mummy is waving at me from across the playground. She's wearing a bright pink coat. It's my favourite. Sometimes she lets me try it on and play in front of the mirror. I run across the playground towards her and she bends down and opens her arms and I run into them. Mummy gives me a big hug and pulls me up into her arms. I like the smell of her perfume. She lets me put some on sometimes.

She puts me in the car and we drive to the park. It's Wednesday and we always go to feed the ducks on a Wednesday. Mummy saves up all the old bread and we throw it into the water and watch the ducks eat it. Sometimes, we have ice-cream and sit on our bench and Mummy asks me about school. I tell her about who I played with and what I did with the teacher. She sits with her arm around me and calls me her 'special girl.'

I love spending time with Mummy.


	4. Chapter 4

I follow Mum out of the room, running behind to catch her as she strides down the corridor in front of me, anger and annoyance echoing with every click of her heels. "God, he's insufferable sometimes!" she exclaims to no-one in particular. "You wouldn't think I had worked here for eight years…" She pushes open the door into reception and I follow her, running straight into someone else in the process.

"Sorry," I say automatically and look up into the face of Chocolate Viv. "Hi!" I exclaim, my mind still half on the memory of playing hide and seek and hiding under his desk.

"Hi," he replies somewhat cautiously.

I wait for something more, but it doesn't come.

"Are you coming?" I look past him to see Mum standing at the door. I recognise her expression as one of impatience. I remember her looking at me like that if I was ever meandering along when she was in a hurry. I half expect her to hold out her hand. I think if she did, I would grab it.

"Yes," I reply, moving past Chocolate Viv and heading for the door. She passes through it before me and I have to move quickly to avoid being hit in the face. I step outside for the first time since I arrived and a bitter wind hits, causing me to shiver involuntarily. The sky has clouded over and I can feel the first spot of rain on my skin.

The Quattro is parked at the kerb and I stop on the steps momentarily to stare at it. It's not as big as I remember it being, but it is just as red and shiny. I move slowly towards it my eye looking, and finding, the scratch on the back passenger door where my school bag caught it one day. I thought Dad was going to have a fit when he saw it but thankfully he gave me a hug, told me that accidents happen and that he still loved me. I move closer and I can almost see myself sitting in the backseat with a book, or my personal cassette player listening to the Miami Sound Machine and eating sweets that Dad would pass me when Mum wasn't looking.

Suddenly, without warning, I feel a great weight on my chest, pushing down, crushing…and I find I can't draw breath. It is as if my lungs have just stopped. As though there is a mechanical failure inside me. I sway and grab onto the side of the car for support, feeling the world spin around me. My stomach heaves and I feel bile rising, burning my throat. The sights around me vanish and all I can see is a great white light, almost blinding me. I screw my eyes shut to avoid it. My head pounds, the air rushes past me and I feel sweat breaking out all over my body...

"How much has she taken do you reckon?"

"Looks like a lot."

"Typical junkie. Pass me the bag will you?"

"What do you think?"

"I think if we don't get her to hospital she's going to be the fifth one this month..."

"Are you all right?"

As quickly as they came over me, the feelings subside. I open my eyes and realise I am crouched next to the car, one hand on the door, a delightful pile of vomit on the pavement in front of me. I look up to see Mum looking at me, her forehead wrinkled in concern. "I'm…"

"You look terrible," she continues, side-stepping the vomit, coming alongside me and bending to put her hand on my arm. "If you're not feeling well and you'd rather stay in the station, I'm happy to visit Liam Muir on my own."

"No!" I say hurriedly, not wanting to miss the opportunity of spending time with her. "No, I'm fine. Just..." I spit onto the ground, trying to dislodge the taste of vomit from my mouth. "It's just..." I search for an explanation and land on the one that everyone already believes anyway. "Big night last night." I smile wanly.

"I see," she says, "Well if you're sure…"

"I am." She looks at me as though she doesn't quite believe me but, true to her word, she turns and walks back around to the driver's side of the Quattro. Shakily, I straighten up, feeling my head protest slightly as I do so. Opening the passenger door, I slide gratefully inside and, with trembling fingers, fasten my seatbelt. .

"I just hope he won't be too pissed off," Mum explains as she pulls away from the kerb. "Gene hates it when I borrow the car. Thinks of it as his 'boy toy.' Not suitable for women. He insists on screeching around the streets as though the city were his own personal Formula 1 track."

I smile at the memory, me and Dad in the car, windows down, music blaring. "I bet your daughter loves it though."

"He thinks I don't know," she says wryly.

"Know what?"

"That he races around the streets with her in the backseat, driving well above the speed limit, purely because she asks him to." She laughs, "She has him wrapped around her little finger."

"That's as it should be, surely?" I say.

She glances at me, "Said by someone who's a daddy's girl herself?"

I pause before answering. Maybe years ago, but if he only knew what his little girl had become..."I suppose." I grab the opportunity to quiz her. "How long have you been together?"

"Oh…" she thinks back, "We've been together for six years and married for almost five. I was pregnant with Lucy when Gene proposed."

"Really? I didn't know that," I say.

Mum glances at me, "Why would you?"

"Umm…of course," I reply hurriedly, "why would I?"

"I'm sorry you had to witness us fighting on your first day," she sighs. "It's not normally like that."

"No?" I look at her, seeking reassurance.

"Well…" she concedes as we join the afternoon traffic, "at least not all the time. So tell me about you then," she changes the subject before I can ask more. "Fenchurch East is your first posting I understand."

"Erm…" I wonder how best to reply, thinking back over every episode of The Bill I've ever seen for inspiration. "Yes," I settle on.

"Where did you train?"

It is an innocent enough question and yet, I haven't a clue how to answer. I pick the first area that comes into my head without even knowing if it has a police station, "Soho."

"Really?" she looks at me and I detect a look of respect in her expression. "How did you find it there?"

"Fine."

"You'll have experience in dealing with a lot of vice then…"

XXXX

"Look, he's a mate."

"So?"

"So…he's going to give us a good deal on the gear."

"How much?"

"Couple of grams. We could make a weekend of it." Gary smiles his cheeky grin, the one that first attracted me to him. The one that made me want to be with him.

"What does he want?"

"Just a quick shag, that's all. Come on, Luce, just lay back, close your eyes and think of England." He dances in front of me and I can tell that he needs a hit. I need one too, but not quite as badly. It's not easy keeping up the habit on benefits and we are already in debt to Johnny. "It'll be fine," he tries to reassure me.

I don't know why I agree. Maybe it's because I know that if I don't, I won't get any gear and if I don't get any gear then the weekend is going to be hell. I tell myself it'll be ok. It's in my own house. It's not as if I'm standing on some street corner. It's not really prostitution. It's just business.

I sit in the room waiting. I'm on the bed, my back leaning against the wall, my legs crossed under me. It feels like forever, but only a few minutes after Gary has left the room, the door opens again.

"Hi Luce." I hate the way he uses my nickname, as though he is privileged to an intimate relationship with me. I feel a shudder go through me as he closes the door and advances towards the bed. He sits on the end and looks at me. "Gary said it was all right."

I start to feel sick. "He said you had a couple of grams." I focus on the important.

He nods. "All yours." Reaching out, he puts a hand on my knee and waits. After a moment of indecision, I uncross my legs and lay them out straight. With an appreciative smile, he runs his hand gently up under my skirt."I reckon everyone should pay in kind."

If the situation wasn't as desperate, I would laugh. It sounds like a cheesy line out of a cheesy movie.

I let him pull me down so I am lying flat on my back on the bed. I vow not to look at him and fix a point on the ceiling instead. I think back to happier times. Mum and Dad taking me on holiday to Bournemouth. We rented a caravan near the sea and I spent all day every day swimming, building sandcastles, exploring.

It hurts at first, but I bite my lip and try to ignore it.

I ate so much ice-cream that holiday that Mum said I was going to turn into a Mr Whippy. There was a shop near the caravan site that sold the best ice-cream. All different flavours. One day I would have chocolate, the next day strawberry and so on until I had tried every single one. Dad always had vanilla, which I always thought was boring.

He's enjoying it. I can tell by the noise he's making.

Dad would take me to ride the donkeys every afternoon before dinner. Mum said she thought it was cruel that poor animals be dragged back and forth along the beach all day every day until they collapsed from exhaustion. Dad told her that was rubbish and that the donkeys enjoyed it. I didn't care. I just enjoyed pretending that I was riding in a race and was always disappointed that they wouldn't go faster.

He thrusts hard inside me and I jam my fist in my mouth to stop myself from crying.

"Look at the sunset Luce," Dad would say as he sat in a deckchair outside the caravan, me curled up in his lap, exhausted from another day of fun. "What do you want to do tomorrow?" he would ask and I would tell him. "That's what you did today!" he would say and I would laugh and then Mum would take me and put me in bed and I would be asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Moments later, he comes with a grunt and collapses on top of me. I lie there, unable to move due to the weight of him, hot tears trickling down my cheeks. After he regains his breath, he lifts himself off me and pushes himself back on the bed. I watch as he zips himself back up and then stands up.

"Nice one," he says. "I'll give Gary the gear." He turns and moves to the door. Silently, he opens it and slips out, closing it quietly behind him.

XXXX

"Lucy?"

I jolt back to reality and note that we are idling at a set of traffic lights. "What?" I say.

"I said, you must have dealt with a lot of vice in Soho." Her tone is neutral, non-judgemental, and yet I can't help but feel that she must be able to see the truth. That she must be able to tell that I have sold myself for a hit of heroin.

"A bit," I say.

"I always feel so sorry for the girls," Mum looks back to the front. "Having to do that for money or drugs..." she shakes her head. "Attitudes in the force aren't much better. There's still a ridiculous culture among male police officers about prostitutes. They just don't think they matter and they do." She looks at me again. "Don't you agree?"

"Of course," I reply, swallowing hard. The lights change to green and we move forward, taking another turning before we drive through the gates of Wormwood Scrubs prison and into the car park.

Mum switches off the engine. "It won't be your first time here, I'm sure."

I open my mouth to say that actually it is, but she is already out of the car. I follow suit and moments later we are entering the visitors' area. I look around the waiting room. I've never seen it from this perspective before. All I've ever seen is round the back where they bring you in cuffed. I look at the various people sitting and waiting on their visits and wonder what's going through their heads. Shaz and Chris came to visit me once when I was on remand. It was an awkward meeting, neither of us really knowing what to say. I could tell how disappointed they were in me.

"Lucy?" I look up to see Mum staring at me.

"Hmm?"

She gestures to my pocket, "ID."

"What? Oh!" I rifle through the pocket in my skirt and pull out the leather wallet Dad threw at me earlier. Opening it, I look briefly at the picture and then hold it up for the guard to see. I expect him to say it's fake, but he merely waves at me and then lets us through into the police waiting area.

"So, Liam Muir," Mum muses as we sit down in hard, uncomfortable, plastic chairs. "What do we need to get from him?"

I realise she is talking to me, "Well..."I think back, "anything about a shipment of drugs that...erm...whatishisname..."

"Kevin Donnelly."

"That's right, Kevin Donnelly. Anything about a shipment of drugs that Kevin Donnelly is expecting."

"Exactly, plus we have to remind him about his upcoming parole hearing." She flicks an imaginary piece of fluff from her jeans. "It was Gene that put him away for dealing." She nods at me. "He was dealing outside a school. A fourteen year girl took an overdose and died. It wasn't long after Lucy was born and..." she trails off, "it affected him a lot at the time."

"Because he was a dad?"

"And because he had to deal with the girl's parents. Her father especially was distraught. Couldn't understand why his little girl would take drugs."

I feel a lump form in my throat at the obvious parallels.

"I remember him coming home and saying that the father had just stood there repeating "not my little girl, not my little girl," over and over." She shook her head. "I think that's when he really bonded with Lucy. He couldn't bear to think about anything like that happening to her." She turns to me and I see tears hovering in her eyes.

My heart thuds loudly. "Mu...DI Drake..."

"I'm just being ridiculous really," she wipes her eyes. "I suppose it must be hormones." She looks at me and laughs, "Don't tell anyone but...well...I'm pregnant." I stare at her. "God, you're the first person I've told and I barely even know you!" She laughs again. "It much be a female thing. I was going to tell Shaz earlier but...well I found out this morning and..." she breaks off as a door at the far end of the room opens. "Well," she gets to her feet.

I stay seated where I am, mouth open, my body rigid with shock. I never knew. I never knew and yet why would I have? I always wanted a brother or sister. Always wondered if my life might have turned out differently if I had. Would I be who I am if there had been someone else there to share the pain and grief, to have witnessed what I witnessed? Would I have come out the other side unscathed?

"Are you coming?"

I get to my feet and walk, dreamlike, over towards where she is standing waiting for me. I look down, searching for a physical sign. The start of a bump perhaps. There is nothing. I look up again and meet her gaze. "I didn't know," I say.

"Well...no, you wouldn't, would you?" she looks at me sideways. "Can you...can you keep it to yourself for now? It's just that I haven't told Gene yet and..." she trails off.

"Yes," I reply. I will promise her anything.

"Thank you," she replies. She turns and walks through the door and I follow her, my mind racing.

Three were killed that night. Not two, but three.


	5. Chapter 5

We walk through the door and into a much smaller room, furnished only with a table and four chairs. It reminds me of the interview room back at the police station. Mum sits down in one of the seats and I follow her. As I sit down, I glance at her, silently begging for her to start talking about her pregnancy. I want to know everything, everything I possibly can about it. I want to torture myself with all the details.

A door at the far end opens and a prison guard enters followed by another, younger, man in handcuffs. They pause at the door while the cuffs are removed and then the guard gives him a shove towards the table. He approaches us slowly, peering at us in the dull glow given off by the strip lighting. He sits down on the opposite side of the table and looks at Mum. "Inspector Drake," he draws out her name, "nice to see you again." Mum reaches into her pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. She puts them down on the table and pushes them towards him. My mouth goes dry. I am dying for a fag. He lifts the packet and pulls one cigarette out. Placing it between his lips, he cracks the lighter and the tip glows orange. Then he pushes the pack back towards her and I have to ball my fists to stop myself from taking one.

I wonder if that would be against the rules.

"To what do I owe this…pleasure?" Muir asks.

"Kevin Donnelly," Mum says, her eyes on his.

"What about him?"

"Seen him recently?"

"Nope. Funnily enough he doesn't really like coming to places like these. Brings back all the bad memories of his misspent youth," Muir leers at me. "Who's this then?"

"I'm DC Lucy Hunt," I say, surprised at how easily the acronym trips off of my tongue, and how good saying it makes me feel.

He raises his eyebrows quizzically, "Hunt, eh? Any relation to…?"

"No," Mum says, before I can reply. "Word has it, that Donnelly and Dave Silver are expecting a large shipment in the next day or so."

"Shipment of what, cuddly toys?"

"Drugs, as well you know."

"I wouldn't know anything about that," Muir drags on his cigarette and blows smoke in Mum's face. I want to hit him. "I've been in here for the last five years as well you know. I've been behaving myself, Alex. Keeping my head down, no reports of fighting…"

"We know that Silver came to visit you two weeks ago," Mum interrupts him.

"We do?" I say, before I can stop myself.

Muir catches my mistake. Cocking his head on one side, he looks at me curiously, "Now either you're not keeping your colleagues up to speed, Alex, or you just told me a little lie," he grins mockingly.

She brazens it out. "Well, which is it?"

He tuts loudly and looks at me again, "You really should have her better trained. Not been doing this job very long, have you darling? I bet this is a big change from playing with your dollies, isn't it? I bet you wet your expensive little knickers at the thought of coming in here to see me."

I feel my stomach heave. He reminds me of every horrid, scheming, bastard of a dealer I have had the pleasure of meeting with, pleading with and fucking with in my time. "Fuck you," I say harshly.

"Oooh, get her!" he laughs. "Now, that's not very ladylike love, is it?" He turns back to Mum, "Tell you what, Alex, when you've actually got something worth talking about, you come back and see me. And bring her with you," he gestures to me with his cigarette, "I like a woman with a bit of spunk and she reminds me of you." He pushes his chair back from the table. "Give my regards to DCI Hunt. Is it still in touch with that girl's family? Terrible thing…" he grins again and looks at me. "Next time, darling, you get on your knees and I might be willing to talk to you."

I freeze.

Muir takes another drag on his cigarette and turns away from us.

"What did you say?" I ask, my voice barely carrying.

He pauses and looks back at me, "What?"

My heart is thudding in my chest and I slowly get to my feet, cold fear flooding my body. "What did you say?"

"I'm sorry," he mocks. "Didn't you hear me the first time? I said that if you want anything from me, you'll have to get on your knees." He blows smoke at me this time. "Nice thought. Do you need me to say it again?"

"Yes," my voice trembles as I speak.

"Lucy…" Mum says, but I gesture for her to shut up.

"Say it!" I repeat.

Muir looks at me as though I have lost my mind, "Why?"

"Please…" my whole body is trembling now, my knees threatening to give way under me, "please just say it."

"I have to say, DC Hunt, this is a very odd interrogation technique…"

"Say it!" I practically scream the words this time, my voice echoing around the room.

He takes another long drag on his cigarette, blows smoke into the air, leans over the table towards me and says, "Get on your knees…"

XXXX

"Lucy? I really need your help. Do you think you can help me?"

The man has a nice face, a kind face. He reminds me of Glen Michael from Glen Michael's Cartoon Cavalcade which is my favourite programme. Daddy watches it with me sometimes and he does Palladin's voice to make me laugh.

"She's in shock, can't you tell that?" Shaz's arm is firmly around my shoulders, pulling me closer to her. "She 'asn't slept and she needs to go to bed."

"I appreciate that, Mrs Skelton," the man says, "but it's important that we get what information we can from her while it's fresh in her mind."

"She's just seen both her parents murdered!" Shaz exclaims and her voice sounds sad. "'ow can you expect 'er to…"

"Lucy," the man turns to me again and smiles, "can you tell me what you and Mummy and Daddy did yesterday?"

I nod, but say nothing.

"Can you actually tell me?"

I tell him about school, about dinner, about the bonfire and the fireworks display. I tell him about The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe and I tell him about going to sleep and waking up when I hear the noise from downstairs.

I stop talking.

He moves his chair closer to me. "Can you tell me anything about the people who came to the house?"

I shake my head.

"Did you see any of them?"

I shake my head.

"Did you hear any of them speak?" I start banging my foot off of the chair leg. I don't mean to start doing it, but I can't stop. He leans in closer, "Did you?" I nod slowly. "Can you tell me what they said?" I tell him, but I don't even hear what I say. He frowns and leans in even closer. "Can you say that again, Lucy?"

I shake my head again and turn to bury my head in Shaz's coat.

"Can't you see she's upset?" Shaz sounds angry now..

"Mrs Skelton," the man says, "you're a police officer so I know you understand why we need to do this. Please…"

After a minute or so, Shaz pulls me away from her and bends her head so she is right in front of me and her eyes are looking into mine. "Lucy," she says, gently, "what did you 'ear them say?"

I whisper it.

"What did she say?" the man looks at Shaz.

Shaz hugs me tightly to her and strokes my hair the way Mummy did whenever I had a nightmare. "She said 'e said, 'get on your knees.'"

XXXX

For a moment, we stand staring at each other me, frozen with fear and Muir, looking as though he is enjoying every minute of this sick game.

It is him. I know that voice. I remember that voice. Sat on the stairs, looking through the gaps in the banister into the living room, unable to see them, but able to hear every word.

"Get on your knees…"

"You…" I find my voice. "It's you…" I jerk back from the table, knocking against my chair as I do so. "Mum…" I glance at her, still seated at the table watching me. "Mum, get away from him." Her image from that night flashes before my eyes. On her knees in the living room, begging… "Come on, Mum, please…" I reach out and grab the sleeve of her jacket, trying to pull her from her seat, my eyes never leaving Muir's.

"What is it?" she asks.

"We have to go," I babble, "please, we have to leave now. It's him…it's him…and we have to go…" I have a tight hold of her now and I am pulling her backwards away from the table towards the door. "Don't come near us," I warn Muir, "stay away from us…" He remains at the table, watching impassively as we dance away from him.

"Lucy, you really don't have to drag me along with you," Mum says, trying to loosen my grip. But I am determined to hang onto her. If I can just get her away from him, then everything might be all right. She might be all right.

I reach the door first and turn the handle, but it refuses to open, so I bang on it loudly with my free hand. Muir straightens up suddenly and takes a step around the table. My fear intensifies tenfold. My chest tightens and I can hardly breathe. I am that little girl again, the one who saw and heard and then ran and hid behind her bedroom door as her parents murderers fled into the night. For years afterwards, I dreamed about them finding me…

"Stay away from us!" I scream loudly at him, whilst banging the door again.

"It's all right…" I hear Mum saying, but she sounds so far away. There is a rushing in my ears, the continual sound of gunfire, over and over, and the screaming…

"Let us out!" I shout to no-one in particular, letting go of her and banging on the door with one hand whilst the other fights with the handle. "Let us out!" The door suddenly swings open and I literally fall back into the waiting room, landing on my knees in front of the same plastic chairs that we had been sitting in mere minutes earlier. I hear the sound of the door closing behind us and the noise in my head suddenly stops. Now, all I can hear is the sound of my own laboured breathing.

"My God…" I hear Mum say behind me, "what on earth…?"

The tears come then, for the first time in a long time, and they are followed by the sobbing. I make a noise like I have never heard myself make before. A keening, that sounds like some kind of wounded animal. I lean forward so that my face is pressed against my knees and cover my head with my hands. I don't know if I am crying out of fear or loneliness or self-pity, but I am unable to stop, even when I feel Mum put her hands under my arms and gently persuade me to my feet. I sink down into one of the chairs and cover my face with my hands. She puts one arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to her and I find myself resting my head against her shoulder, her curls brushing against my forehead, until such time as my sobbing begins to subside. Her chin rests against the top of my head and I find myself wanting to cry more. I have tried for years to cling on to the memory of what it is like to be comforted by my mother but as time has gone on and my addiction has taken hold, it has grown fainter.

"Are you all right?" she says.

I pull away and wipe my eyes viciously. "I think so."

"It can be a frightening experience coming to a prison," she says, her arm still around me, "especially if you haven't done it before. Did you never do it while you were at Soho?"

"I wasn't…" I pause, wondering what to say. Should I tell her the truth? What even is the truth? How will she react if I say I am her daughter, somehow sent back in time from 2003 whilst under the influence of an extremely strong hit of heroin? If I tell her that, I will have to tell her everything and, somehow, the shame is too much to comprehend. Even in this fake world, I don't want her to know the truth about me.

"You called me Mum," she says.

I take a deep, shuddering breath, "Slip of the tongue, sorry."

"Are you sure?" I meet her gaze. "If you need to talk, Lucy…it can be difficult for women in the force, even in this day and age."

I swallow hard, "I'm fine, really. You won't tell Da…you won't tell DCI Hunt, will you?" Despite what he said he knew about the '1988 me' at our first meeting, I am even more desperate for him not to find out the truth.

"I promise," she says. There is a long moment of silence. "Come on, I think you need a drink."

XXXX

I remember Luigi's as though it were yesterday. The warm, red décor and the smell of fresh bread and pasta made it my second favourite place as a child, after the station. I would get to come and sit with all the grown-ups and listen to them talking about things I didn't understand while devouring plates of spaghetti and meatballs followed by chocolate cake. Dad would sit with his arm around me and occasionally steal some of my dinner and then pretend it had been someone else.

Stepping inside, all those familiar memories wash over me. It hasn't changed a bit from the memory in my mind and I even know where we will be sitting before Mum has led me there. The others are already there, Shaz and Chris deep in conversation with Ray hanging on the end of the table like a spare part. Dad is sitting at the next table facing the door and he gets to his feet as we approach, allowing Mum to slip in beside him against the wall. I hesitate for a moment and then take the chair opposite.

"So?" Dad asks, once we are seated.

Mum glances at me, her gaze confirming the promise she made me at the prison. "Nothing," she replies, "as expected."

"Did you mention 'is parole 'earing?"

"We didn't get that far. Spaghetti please, Luigi," she says as the small, rotund waiter appears at the table. "Lucy?"

I look up at him and smile. Like his restaurant, he hasn't changed either. Still the same twinkling eyes and slightly world-weary, put-upon expression. I wonder if he will be the first to recognise me.

"You want to order?" he asks me and I realise that he won't.

"Oh…um…" I suddenly realise that I am starving. "I'll have the same," I smile at Mum.

"Good choice, signorina," he scribbles something on his pad and then hurries away towards the kitchen.

I notice a glass of wine sitting on the table and I reach out to grasp it, bringing it to my lips and draining it in one. My hands shake slightly and after putting the glass back down on the table, I clasp them in my lap to try and stop it. When I look up, Mum and Dad are both looking at me. I smile self-consciously and wonder what in God's name to say. There are so many things that we could talk about and yet…

"So, 'ow would you rate your first day then?" Dad asks.

I look at him and wonder if it is a trick question. But I see no hint of malevolence in his eyes. "All right," I reply. "Interesting…"

Mum smiles encouragingly, "The first day in a new place is always very overwhelming. It takes a bit of time to get used to a new place, new faces, new ways of working. I'm sure, in time, you'll settle in and it'll be as though you were always part of the team."

The thought is a welcome one. To work side by side with my parents, to get to know them as adults rather than simply as the grown-ups I remember is something I have only ever been able to dream of before. But the price to pay…them never knowing who I really am…seems a high one. Besides, I remind myself before I get carried away, this is just a trip you're having, Luce. None of this is real…

"Who's your favourite singer, Lucy?" Chris asks suddenly, leaning over from his table.

"What? Oh…Will Young," I say quickly and without thinking.

"Who?" Dad asks.

"Oh I love him!" Mum exclaims.

I pause and stare at her, "What?"

She nods, taking another sip of her orange juice, "I couldn't stop singing Evergreen for about a week after he won. Oh, thanks Luigi," she says as he places bowls of spaghetti in front of us. "I am starving…"

I continue to stare at her, ignoring my own steaming plate. "How…I mean, how do you know who Will Young is?" She ignores me and starts devouring the pasta. "He only won Pop Idol at the end of last year…"

"You been starving yourself again?" Dad asks, looking down at Mum's, by now, half-empty plate.

"Mmm?" she looks up at him, "No, I'm just hungry, that's all."

"I don't understand…" I say again, though it seems as though neither of them have heard me.

"There's 'ungry and then there's 'ungry," Dad says, watching as she sucks a strand of spaghetti into her mouth. He shifts closer to her. "Giving me a bit of the 'orn 'ere, love watching you do that." She shoots him a look and continues eating. "Reminds me of when you were pregnant with Luce. Ate us out of 'ouse and 'ome." He raises his eyebrows at me, inviting me to share the joke.

Something in my gaze must have given it away. He looks from Mum to me and back again and I feel as though I am a witness to something I have absolutely no business to be. "I should…" I push my chair back from the table.

"Something you want to tell me?" he asks her quietly. Mum puts her fork down and turns to face him. She says nothing. He says nothing either, but there is a world of communication passing between them. He looks down at her stomach and I watch as he reaches out and gently puts his hand on it. Mum puts her hand over his and smiles. He leans over and kisses her gently. "When?"

"Found out this morning," she replies. "I'm due in June. I told Lucy this afternoon, don't ask me why…"

"You told our daughter before you told me?" he interrupts in a slightly wounded tone.

"No, not…not our Lucy," Mum corrects him, "This Lucy," she gestures to me. "I didn't mean to, it just…came out."

"Well I'll rephrase my statement," Dad says, "You told our new DC before you told me?"

"Oh for heavens sake…" Mum says, turning back to face front and lifting her fork again. "Does it really matter who knows first?"

"Well, seeing as I am the father…"

"Congratulations," I interrupt quickly, desperate to stop the fight. "For what it's worth, I think it's brilliant news." They both stare at me. "I'm sure Lucy…your Lucy…will be thrilled to hear she's going to have a little brother or sister." I feel tears spring into my eyes at the thought and I look down at my plate to hide them. Suddenly, I am not hungry any more. "Gosh, it's been such a long day," I say, getting to my feet. "I really think I should just get my head down and…and get some sleep."

"I've got your keys," Shaz suddenly appears by my side holding out a silver key on a key-ring. "Luigi says the movers came over earlier and put your stuff in already."

I take the key and stare at it, "What's this?"

"The key to the flat," she replies patiently. "The one upstairs? The one you're renting from Luigi?"

I look from the key to Shaz, to my parents and back to the key again, "But…but I live in Hackney," I say, as though I am speaking to a five year old.

"Not anymore." I turn to see Dad looking at me over the top of his pint glass while Mum scrapes her plate. "You live 'ere now." I watch as he takes a long drink, sits back and winds his arm around Mum. "Welcome to the team."


	6. Chapter 6

"Just put it in the bag."

"What if they see us?"

"They won't, just do it!"

I look over my shoulder at the security guard standing at the door. Then I look down at the jumper in my hands and know that we could sell it to get money for a hit. I look at Kate and she nods encouragingly at me. I have known her for years and she is the closest thing I have to a sister. We have spent many an evening together getting drunk and high and putting the world to rights. She was raised in a children's home, so I feel as though she understands me.

I open the carrier bag and stuff the jumper inside. Kate pushes two more in and then we make our way to the door, nonchalantly glancing around as though we were everyday shoppers. We step through the door and an alarm starts to ring. I pause for a fraction of a second and look at Kate and then at the security guard.

"Run!" she shouts, before she takes off down the street.

I move to follow, but I am too slow and, before I have even gone a few steps, I feel someone grab me from behind. I drop the bag and swing my arm around, landing a well-aimed punch on the security guard's nose. His grip loosens momentarily and I take the advantage to make good my escape. I run down the street, through crowds of bewildered shoppers, ignoring the shouts of the security guard behind me. I think I have gotten the better of him as I turn into Friar Lane. If I can get around the back of the shops I should be able to get over the walls and double back before they realise. The high fence is in front of me and I toss the bag over it and then grab the top to pull myself over it.

"No you don't, Lucy!" I hear a familiar voice behind and turn to see PC Wilson, a face I know only too well. "Come on, get down," he says. I think about booting him in the fact and legging it, but even I know that that will only make things worse. I jump down and turn to face him. He's in his 40s, a nice enough guy who always brings me extra cups of tea any time I end up in the cells and has tried on more than one occasion to have a fatherly chat with me about where my life is heading. "Not again," he says, frowning at me. "When are you going to realise...?"

"Fuck it," I say, holding out my wrists, "let's just get it over with."

XXXX

It's still dark when I wake from my dream, only a thin sliver of early morning light forcing its way through the curtains. I was thinking about Kate and about how we used to go shoplifting together before she got two years for robbery six months ago. I was there that day, but fortunately not identified by anyone. Just like a true friend, she didn't grass me up, even when I begged her to. I keep thinking about how I'm going to thank her when she gets out.

I roll over and bury my face in the pillow, the faint strains of a headache pushing against my temples. It was the strangest of dreams, bleeding on as it did from my being in 1988 and seeing Mum and Dad. That was one hell of a trip. It felt so real, as though I really had been there, as thought I really had been a part of the Fenchurch East team.

I don't remember getting myself into bed after taking my hit, but somehow I must have managed it. I reach out blindly towards the bedside table, feeling for my cigarettes, but find nothing. For a moment, there is blissful silence, then the repeated sound of a car's engine revving and conking out followed by a string of Manchester-accented profanities. I roll over onto my back and rub my eyes until I am able to focus. The ceiling doesn't look familiar. There is no large crack and a large overhead lampshade that I don't remember buying or, more likely, nicking it. But then I have done many things in the past few years that I can't, or won't, remember. Pushing back the bed covers, I swing my legs over the side and, to my surprise, my feet sink into a warm, thick carpet rather than a thin, threadbare rug. I stand there for a moment in the semi-darkness rubbing my feet against the carpet, enjoying the feel of it against my toes. The shouting carries on outside and, curious as to which neighbourhood scumbag it is, I move over to the window and pull back the curtains.

"Shit!" I exclaim confronted, as I am, by the front entrance of Fenchurch East Police station. The Quattro is parked at the steps and Dad is shouting something incomprehensible at Ray who is shrugging and pointing at the car in return. "Oh God..." I stumble back and collapse onto the bed, pressing my hands against my eyes and releasing them, waiting for the familiarity of my own bedroom to come into view, much as I don't think I want it to. It doesn't. I get up and leave the bedroom, memories slowly flooding back, as I take in the living room and kitchen. I remember Shaz bringing me up here from Luigi's and showing me around despite my protestations that I couldn't possibly live here, Mum saying that she had stayed here when she'd first come to Fenchurch, Dad mumbling some dirty comment about getting a hard-on while dancing to Spandau Ballet..."I'm still here," I whisper, "why am I still here? Why haven't I woken up? What...?" I jump as someone bangs loudly on the front door.

I wait, frozen to the spot, wondering if they will go away if I just don't answer.

"Lucy? Lucy, it's Alex."

"Mum..." I move quickly to the door and pull it open to see her standing on the other side, one hand over her still flat stomach, breathing heavily.

"Gosh, I'm only two months pregnant and I'm already finding it hard to climb the stairs," she smiles and I can't help notice how radiant she looks. "Gene sent me to make sure you hadn't overslept." She glances down and I follow her gaze to realise I am wearing nothing but a Wham T-shirt. "Well I guess it's lucky I came up and not him!" We both start as there is more shouting from the street. "The car's playing up," she confides, "hence the Neolithic attitude at this time in the morning." If she has noticed that I haven't uttered a word since opening the door, she doesn't let it show. "You'd better get ready. It's Muir's parole hearing this afternoon and Gene's determined that if Donnelly and Silver are planning some sort of rescue attempt that we're there to stop it. God knows what he's got in mind." She gives me another quick smile and then turns and makes her way back down the stairs.

I close the door over and stand staring at it for a long moment, my mind racing. I'm still here. It's now 3rd November 1988, two days before the murders, and I'm still here. I think back to that time, that time from my past, to see if I can recollect even knowing Muir, or knowing if he did escape. But, understandably, there is nothing. I was five. I was never privy to the adult conversations that took place in corners after my parents' deaths. "But if I'm here..." I whisper to myself, "then maybe..." I turn and hurry back into the bedroom, pull open the wardrobe door and am greeted by the sight of a large number of clothes that I have never laid eyes on before. I grab the first things I can lay my hands on and rush into the bathroom where I quickly wash my face and hands and brush my teeth before pulling on the jeans and top that I have selected and feeling surprised when they fit. I turn back to the mirror to brush my hair and pause.

I look different. For a moment, I can't quite put my finger on how, so I stare at myself, turning my head left and right, examining myself from all angles. Then it hits me. There is colour in my cheeks, not a lot, but some. My skin looks clearer than it has in a long time, my eyes brighter. As I raise my hand to run the brush through my hair, I catch sight of my arm and am shocked by how reduced the tracks look. They are not as red, not as bold as they have looked before. I stare at each arm in turn, confused and pleased in equal measure, before realising that I am not shaking at all, and that I haven't even thought about heroin.

I want to stare at myself for longer, to ponder and wonder if I am simply imagining these changes, but I know that I have to get over to the station, so I grab a cardigan from the bedroom and then dash out of the flat and down the stairs, out the side-door at Luigi's and hurry across the road. The Quattro is still there, but Dad and Ray have gone, so as I pass, I run my hand lightly over the bonnet, just to make sure that it is real.

Viv looks up from his desk when I walk in and gives me a smile. "Shaz said all you needed was a good night's sleep," he says, nodding.

"What?" I say, confused.

"You look much better this morning," he explains, "not as grey." Then he turns away as the phone rings beside him and he starts barking at someone at the other end of the line.

Slightly buoyed by the fact that I am not the only person who has noticed this change, I push open the far door and stride purposefully down the corridor towards CID. I see a couple of people looking at me twice, as though recognising the same change that both Viv and I have seen, and it makes me smile. For the first time in a long time, I feel quite good.

"Oh, about time Miss Van Winkle!" Dad growls as I step into CID. "We like to start at a decent hour round 'ere you know. None of this rolling in whenever the 'ell you feel like it."

"Sorry," I reply, hurrying forward and sliding in behind my desk. I look over at Shaz as she gives me a wink and a broad smile. It is the first time in a long time that I have seen her look at me with such obvious good humour and I can't help but feel pleased. For someone who has spent so much time giving the impression she couldn't give a shit what people think of her, I am finding it very easy to accept compliments.

"Well, as I was saying..." Dad emphasises for my benefit and I inwardly cringe at the mild rebuke, "Liam Muir's parole 'earing is scheduled for two o'clock this afternoon. Now because the Scrubs 'ave got the decorators in, they're 'aving to move 'im and the 'earing to Fenchurch, right next door, 'ow convenient. Clearly, if there is going to be an escape attempt, it'll be on the way from the Scrubs to 'ere. Now that's a journey of...Chris?"

"Five miles," Chris replies on cue, from his position with his feet up on his desk. I think back to Saturday afternoons in their house, feet on the coffee table, watching the football and drinking my weight in Diet Coke. I can't remember the last time we did that. Ten years ago, if not longer, perhaps.

"Five miles," Dad echoes. "Not a lot, but enough. Given the traffic, probably take them about 'alf an 'our to get from there to 'ere. "

"What's the transportation?" Mum asks, twiddling a pen in her fingers, her brow furrowed in concentration. I feel a smile start on my face just watching her.

"Prison van, one driver, two guards," Ray says, "Muir'll be 'andcuffed for the entire journey and in the secure cage within the van. 'e'll only be allowed out his cuffs at the 'earing."

"Are the guards armed?" Mum turns to him.

"No," Dad answers before Ray can. "No guns, just good old fashioned bare knuckles. Which doesn't exactly fill me with confidence if Donnelly and Silver decide to show up with a couple of pals and an army of machine guns!"

"It's risky," I hear myself say. The others look at me. "Well...broad daylight, in the middle of a main road...you'd have to be desperate." I can't help but remember that I know what that's like. To do something that you know is so obviously going to fail and yet feeling that you have no other option.

"Or confident," Mum says, nodding at me. "Either way, if there is an attempt made, we could be looking at a potentially very dangerous situation, not only for us, but for the public too. Their aim might not be to just get Muir. They could be planning to hurt a lot of people, so I think we should close the road completely."

"Can't do it," Dad replies automatically.

"Why not?" She demands.

"Close the entire main road on the off-chance that someone might try to spring Muir from custody? Upstairs'll never go for it."

"Since when have you ever been bothered about what 'upstairs' think?" Mum asks.

"Since I'm liable to get the blame if this whole thing goes tits up," he replies. "You know what they're like. Keats saw to that five years ago."

"But if you explain to them the potential serious consequences of..."

"Chris, what are the snouts saying?" Dad cuts her off. "Any whispers going around about today?"

"Al phoned last night and said 'e 'ad some more information for us, Guv," Chris says. "Nightshift said 'e wouldn't say what it was about though but 'e wants to meet at eleven at the Finchley Arms."

"Good, you and Ray step on 'im and see what you can get out of 'im and tell 'im that 'is life won't be worth living if 'e doesn't give us something good." Dad turns back to where Mum is sitting with a face like thunder. "Something to add, Inspector?"

"Why bother?" she replies. "You never listen to me anyway. Sometimes I seriously wonder why I even bother coming in here!"

"To make the place look nice and to satisfy me sexually," he replies, puffing out his chest slightly and winking at her. Chris and Ray titter and Shaz rolls her eyes. I feel myself start to blush. These are my parents...

"Does everything have to always be so...smutty?" Mum asks, glaring at him. "It creates a sexually charged atmosphere which is completely inappropriate for a workplace. Do you really want new recruits like Lucy coming in and putting up with this sort of thing?" she gestures carelessly at me. "Imagine how you would feel if that were our Lucy, sitting in some office dealing with a boss like that!"

Dad looks from Mum to me and back again, clearly taken aback by her outburst. "Well excuse me, Missus Wife..."

"Just forget it!" Mum gets to her feet, "Come on," she says to me, "you and I are going back to the prison."

"What for?" I ask, getting to my feet, my heart thudding at the prospect of having to confront Muir again.

"To check their transportation procedures for this afternoon," she says.

"Oh no you don't," Dad says.

Mum turns slowly to face him, "I beg your pardon?"

"You're not taking Lucy anywhere," he says. "She's coming with me."

"Where?" Mum asks.

"The garage."

"The garage?" I say, confused.

"What garage?" Mum folds her arms.

"The garage," he says. "I need someone to come and flutter their eyelashes at Tony so e'll fix the Quattro without totally ripping me off."

There is a long moment of silence as the two of them look at each other. I feel somewhat caught in the middle, my eyes darting back and forth from one to the other, waiting for someone to say something. My parents never usually fought in front of me as a child, but the tension is familiar and I realise that perhaps they did more than I had ever known.

"Please tell me you're joking," Mum says quietly.

"I never joke when it comes to the Quattro, love, you know me," Dad replies.

"Well," she says, uncrossing her arms and lifting her bag, "You do whatever you bloody well like. I'm going the prison to do some proper work." With that, she turns and sweeps out of the room, the door banging behind her.

"Am I really going to a garage with you?" I ask.

"Yes, you really are," Dad replies, "if we can get there without breaking down." He lifts his coat. "Ray, Chris, I want a full update at lunch about what Al tells you, got it?"

"Yes Guv," they reply in unison.

I watch as Dad pushes open the door to CID and then glance back at Shaz, who merely shrugs. "You coming or what?" he demands.

"Eh...yeah," I reply, leaping to my feet and following him out the door. I had forgotten just how quickly he walked and I have to scurry to keep up. "Are we really going to a garage?" I ask again, as we step out into the biting morning wind.

"'ow many bloody times, yes!" he replies, hurrying down the steps to the car and unlocking it. "Get in before I freeze my knackers off." I slide into the passenger seat and wait while he turns over the engine five or six times. Finally, it splutters into life and, clearly not wanting to give it the opportunity to die again, he jams it into gear and we fly away from the kerb. As we screech around the corner, I can't help but think back to hours spent with my Dad doing just this. Even though we were, quite literally, dicing with death it was the most fun I ever had.

"You 'aven't told me to slow down," he says, breaking into my thoughts.

"What?"

"You 'aven't told me to slow down," he repeats. "Alex is never done 'aving a go at me for speeding, along with everything else."

"I don't mind," I reply, "I like going fast."

He glances at me, "You remind me of my Lucy."

"Really?" I feign ignorance, "in what way?"

"She loves it when I drive like this. Sits in the back seat screaming and laughing like she's on a fairground ride or summat. I'll 'ave to watch 'er when she gets a licence."

"Don't you ever worry she might get hurt?" I ask teasingly.

"Do I bollocks," he replies. "I'd never 'urt my little girl and I'd kill anyone else who tried."

XXXX

"Get off me!"

"Make me."

"Get the fuck off, you're hurting me!" I feel a sharp pain as he cracks me across the jaw. My head reels back and I taste blood in my mouth. Only the fact that he is holding onto me prevents me from falling over.

"I'll ask you again, Lucy, where's my money?"

"I haven't got it..." I reply, spitting blood onto the ground. "If I had it, I'd give it to you."

"Stop pissing me about!" He grabs my jumper and yanks me hard towards him so that our faces are inches from each other. "Now I didn't give you that stuff out of the goodness of my heart, love. You promised me that you'd have the money by today and yet, here you are."

"I'm sorry," I reply, trying to stop the tears that are fast welling up in my eyes. "I thought I'd have it, honestly."

"Not exactly good enough, is it?" he leers at me. "You seriously don't want to mess with me darling. If you think this is bad..." I flinch as he raises his fist again, but he stops short of hitting me. "You'd better have that money by tomorrow morning or, I swear to fucking God, don't bother waking up. Do you understand me?" I nod dumbly. "Good." He releases me and I stumble back. "Don't forget..."

XXXX

"Are you listening to me?"

I shake my head to clear the memory and glance over at Dad. "Umm...sorry, what were you saying?"

"Keep up," he says, "I've already got one dopey clown on my team. I don't need another." He turns another corner and pulls to a stop in front of a mechanics garage. "Right, now you're going to flutter your eyelashes while I get 'im to agree to fix it and then you're going to keep 'im talking while I 'ave a look around."

"What are you looking for?" I ask.

"Need to know, Lucy," he replies, tapping the side of his nose. "Need to know."


	7. Chapter 7

I get out of the car and follow Dad across the road towards the half open door of the garage. Even before we reach it, I can hear the strains of Kylie Minogue's I Should Be So Lucky. It reminds me of happier times, dancing round my bedroom. As we step inside the garage, the pungent smell of engine oil hits my nostrils and I recoil slightly at the sharpness. A burning sensation starts in the back of my throat and I cough to try and dislodge it, but each time I take a breath it is still there, cloying, burning, demanding…

"Give her some more."

"Does she really need to be out for this?"

"It's better this way. Less chance of permanent damage."

I close my eyes, as though that will help push back the terrible smell. The voices in my head grow louder, arguing with each other.

"If this doesn't work, we'll lose her!"

"I know that, but do you have a better idea right now? We're ten minutes from the hospital!"

I feel the world tilt on its axis, and I grab onto the first thing I can to stop myself from falling over. Whatever it is, it feels wet and sticky under my hand.

"Another ten seconds or so and she'll be out."

"Why's it taking so long?"

"Because she's shoved a whole load of shit up her veins, that's why…"

"DC Hunt!"

My eyes fly open and I see Dad looking at me, his lips curled disapprovingly. I realise we are not alone and there are no less than three mechanics in blue overalls watching me with barely disguised amusement.

"Sorry…" I breathe, "I don't know what happened there." I pull my hand away from the wall and look down to see it smeared with brown oil. The smell is still pungent and I take a tentative sniff before holding my hand as far away from myself as possible.

"Too much partying, not enough sleeping," Dad says to the eldest of the three mechanics who is standing wiping his hands on an oily rag and looking at me curiously. "Women in the force. DC Lucy Hunt, meet Tony Phillips, best mechanic this side of the river."

I reach out and limply shake his outstretched hand. "Pleased to meet you," I say, my voice coming out harsh and raspy, my throat sore from the effort.

"'ere," he throws his rag at me.

"Thanks," I reply, wiping the material over my hand.

"Bloody 'ell it's Lucy!" One of the younger mechanics, who has been staring at me, starts suddenly and peers at me. "God you look different love! 'aven't seen you for months now! 'ow are you?"

I pause, mid-wipe, and look from him to Dad and back again, trying to work out why he might know me. Dad crosses his arms and looks at me, as though waiting for some kind of explanation or introduction. "Sorry," I say finally, coughing, "do I know you?"

He laughs, a loud bellowing sound that echoes around the room. "Do you know me? Bloody 'ell, don't tell me that all that stuff's gone to your 'ead and fried your brain already." He nudges the other boy standing next to him, a tall, skinny, ginger boy, who doesn't react, and then grins broadly at me.

"What?" I ask, my head suddenly spinning again.

He sees that I'm not joining in on the joke and, glancing at Dad, his smile suddenly falters. "Not that...I mean, it's not as if you'd remember me."

I fight to keep my balance and take a deep breath, trying to dislodge the smell, "But who are you?"

"Don't mind 'im," Tony says smoothly before the other man can reply, "bit of an idiot is laughing boy." He pushes him over towards the door. "'ave a look at the Quattro will you, Ben?"

"Eh...yeah," the other man, Ben, says, darting a quick look at me before moving past me, taking the keys from Dad and heading out of the door to where we left the car.

"Fan belt gone again?" Tony asks.

"Summat like that," Dad replies. "Right, seeing as I'm 'ere…might as well take a wee nosy around, eh Tony?"

"Oh come on!" Tony exclaims. "Not again Mr 'unt! I've told you before that there is nothing dodgy in this place, not any more."

"Your record says otherwise," Dad replies.

"That was years ago!"

"Well then you won't 'ave a problem with me 'aving a look around now, will you? You." Dad gestures to the ginger bloke. "Come with me. You can make sure I don't nick anything." With a smile of self-satisfied triumph, he makes his way into the office at the back, followed by the ginger bloke.

Tony shakes his head and makes his way over to the far end of the garage where a Ford Fiesta is jacked up. I watch him, wondering if I'm supposed to say or do something. "Should I…?" I call out but from the office, I can hear the sound of drawers being opened and then slammed shut. I wonder if I should search around too, but then I don't even know what I'm meant to be looking for.

"'ow do you know Ben then?" Tony calls from the far end.

It takes me at least a minute to realise that he's talking to me. "Erm…I don't. At least, I don't think I do." I realise how ridiculous that sounds and wish I could take it back.

"Well 'e seems to know you," Tony peers around the Fiesta, "and 'ow can you not know?"

"I meet a lot of people," I say, "I can't be expected to remember them all, can I?"

He grins at me, "Of course not. What's up with it then?" I look over my shoulder and see that the comment is directed at Ben who has come back into the garage.

"Needs a new coil pack," he replies, looking at me, "should only take five minutes to replace." He waits, as if he needs an answer from me.

"Ummm…" I glance towards the office, "it's not my car so…"

"Change it, Ben," Tony says, "let's make sure Mr 'unt leaves 'appy."

Ben moves past me and disappears behind another car. A few moments later, he comes back into sight, his gaze on the contraption in his hand. As he makes to move past me, he bumps me accidentally, causing me to pitch to one side. "Sorry!" he exclaims, grabbing my wrist, "You ok?"

"Ben for Christ's sake!" Tony exclaims.

"I'm fine," I reply, straightening myself up, "absolutely fine."

"Sorry about that," Ben says again, and then winks at me.

I frown and open my mouth to ask him what he's doing, when Dad re-emerges from the office, accompanied by the silent ginger bloke. "Right," he rubs his hands together, "well I'm pleased to report you 'ave nothing too suspicious lying around, Tony, well done."

"Told you," Tony replies. "Everything's legit 'ere Mr 'unt."

"Yeah right," he looks at me, "and my esteemed colleague DC Hunt doesn't take it up the arse."

"I beg your pardon?" I splutter, feeling my face go red. This is my Dad for heaven's sake! "I don't….what on earth…?"

"What's 'appening to my car?" he interrupts me.

"Umm, oh…umm…Ben's changing the umm…the…" I can't seem to form a sentence, so taken aback am I.

"Coil pack," Tony helps me out.

"Exactly, coil pack."

"Good, should be a five minute job then," Dad says, "No charge, I'm assuming Tony?" Without waiting for an answer, he strides towards the door.

I look back at Tony who shrugs, "Always a pleasure, Mr 'unt."

I follow Dad out of the door back onto the forecourt where Ben is in the process of lowering the bonnet.

"Is it fixed?" he asks.

"Shouldn't 'ave any more problems with her," he replies, tossing Dad back the keys and winking at me again. It's pissing me off so much now that I have half a mind to grab him and shake him and demand to know what the hell he's winking at me for!

"One of your dealers?" Dad asks as we watch him make his way back into the garage.

I stop dead and look at him. It seems so bloody obvious now that I think about it. Claiming he knows me…asking me if the stuff had fried my brain…God I'm slow. I look at Dad and see he is looking at me expectantly. I don't want to answer the question. Well, I do because it's not true. I've never seen that guy before and have never bought gear from him and I want my Dad to know that but...but maybe my 1988 self has. How would I ever know? Judging by what Dad said to me yesterday, anything is possible. "I...eh..." is all I manage to say.

"You don't 'ave to tell me," he interrupts, as we get back into the Quattro. "Clean slate and all that."

"What was all that about?" I divert the conversation away from the dangerous waters it's heading into. "What were you looking for in the office?"

"Nothing."

"What, nothing as in nothing or nothing as in, you're not going to tell me?"

He turns and looks at me, "Do you know something? You are beginning to sound worryingly like my wife." I smile before I realise it, the comparison making me feel warm inside. There's no-one else I'd rather be like. "What's so entertaining about that?"

I pull my face into a serious expression. "Nothing."

"Anyway..." he starts up the engine, "the kid with the ginger 'air's an informant."

"The skinny one? The one you took into the office with you?"

"Well aren't you observant. I'm glad we got you on the team."

I ignore him. "So...you didn't want Tony and the others to know, is that it?"

"Exactly."

"Did he tell you anything?"

"Not a sausage. But 'e looked scared. Wouldn't surprise me if Donnelly and the gang 'aven't put the word around a bit. We can't be the only ones to think they might try and pull something off with Muir's parole 'earing."

"I suppose..." I agree, shivering slightly at the mention of his name and jamming my hands in the pockets of my jacket for warmth. Almost immediately, the fingers of my right hand brush against something unfamiliar. Realising that there's something unknown in my pocket, I grasp hold of it and pull it out. "Shit..." I breathe, looking down in shock at the polythene bag. Inside, I can see the oh-so-tantalising brown powder that has dominated so much of my life.

"What?" Dad is craning his neck around to try and see out a blind junction.

"Nothing," I ram the bag back into my pocket, feeling my face start to flush at the same time. My heart beats faster and louder, so that I can hear it pounding in my ears. Where in God's name did it come from? I would have noticed it earlier, of course I would have…

My fingers curl silently around the bag and I think back to all the times when I have never felt anything more wonderful than the sensation of the polythene against my skin, the anticipation of what that little bag means…In the past, I have sat on public transport, I have sat in court, I have sat in Shaz and Chris' house my hand clamped around my prize, desperate to get home to indulge myself the way any other normal woman might buy a pair of shoes and hurry home to try them on with every matching item of her wardrobe. "Does...eh...does DI Drake know about your informant?" I try desperately to think about something else, anything to take my mind off of it.

"Just cause we're married doesn't mean we 'ave to share everything," he replies. "I'm sure she's got 'er own little sources 'idden away somewhere."

"How did you recruit him?"

"Nicked 'im last year. Poor sod 'ad never been in trouble with the law before. I promised 'im it wouldn't go any further if 'e 'elped me out every now and then with some information. Donnelly takes 'is motors to Tony sometimes and I thought that 'e might be involved."

"And is he?"

"Dodgy tax discs, that's more Tony's scene. Not drugs and definitely not violence." He turns the car back onto Fenchurch Street and pulls up outside the station.

"So why take me?" I ask. "If no-one else knows about your informant, why take me along? You could have taken the car to get repaired on your own."

He pulls on the handbrake, shuts off the engine and turns to look at me again, his eyes narrowed. "Dunno. S'pose I thought you could use the fresh air." Without waiting for a response, he gets out of the car.

I follow him, "But I could just as easily have gone back to the prison with DI Drake and no-one would have needed to know about your informant."

"All right," he stops at the top of the stairs and turns to face me. "I wanted to see what you were like in action. 'ow you would do in the field. Whether you would be able to do it or whether you'd run off to find the first dealer to get your hands on some gear."

My shoulders droop at his words. Every time he mentions anything about drugs, about who I really am, it makes me feel beyond terrible. I want to keep the two worlds separate. I want him and Mum to get to know me, the me I could be, not me on drugs. "I don't understand how going with you to the garage..." I don't know what I am trying to get him to say. Perhaps I want him to say that he wanted to spend time with me, and yet I know he will never say that.

He looks me up and down and there is a long moment before he speaks again, "Maybe I just wanted to protect you."

I freeze and look at him, "What?"

He leans in closer so that only I can hear, "Maybe I just wanted to protect you," he repeats.

"I…" Before I can get any proper words out, he turns and walks into the station. I stand on the steps, watching his retreating figure, wondering what he meant. The part of me that longs for a relationship with him, with them, wonders if it could possibly be because he knows who I am. Maybe he senses it. Maybe he has a feeling...but the part of me that knows that could never be the case reminds me not to be so stupid. They have no idea who I am and never will. To them, I am just DC Lucy Hunt. I mean nothing to them beyond what I can bring to the team.

Another shiver courses through me and I put my hands in my pockets again, instantly reminding myself of the so-called treasures therein. My head starts to swim, I feel sick and yet my mouth waters at the prospect of a hit. To feel that familiar sense of calm, of peace, to know that no-one can touch me...it is the thing that keeps most junkies going. It is what has kept me going through the dark times.

Hurriedly, I push open the doors and walk in, barely acknowledging Viv, before heading straight to the bathroom. I throw open the door and am relieved to find that there is no-one else there. I pull the bag from my pocket and deposit it on the counter next to the sinks, looking from it to my reflection in the mirror and back again. I don't have the right equipment to hand, but it couldn't be that hard to find a spoon and a lighter in a police station, could it?

"Maybe I just wanted to protect you..." Dad's words echo in my head. My Daddy, the person who was supposed to look after me, supposed to protect me, supposed to make everything all right. He never got the chance to do it. He never got the chance because two days from now Liam Muir will blow his brains out and everything will be the same as it always has been. I can't let that happen. I have to do something. I don't know what, but I have to do something…starting with this.

I lift the bag and step inside one of the cubicles. Closing the door over behind me, I open it and carefully tip the contents into the toilet bowl. Then I pull the chain and watch as the precious heroin slowly disappears.

XXXX

I can't sleep. It's too hot and even with the window open I just can't seem to fall asleep. Barney Bear is on the floor. It's too hot to cuddle him. I need a drink, so I get out of bed and put on my fluffy slippers. I open the door and walk to the top of the stairs. The lights are on downstairs. Mummy and Daddy are still up. It's too early for them to be sleeping. 

"She's not stupid, Gene." I hear Mummy talking. She's at the bottom of the stairs but she hasn't seen me.

"I know that, Alex." Daddy is at the door of the living room. He's holding a glass full of brown stuff in his hand and I watch as he drinks it all. 

"She's going to hear things. People are going to talk."

"What do you want me to say? She's four years old. She shouldn't 'ave to think about that kind of thing."

"How will she feel in later life if she finds out, Gene, and we haven't told her?"

I sit down on the top step and listen. I want to know who Mummy and Daddy are talking about.

"Alex…she's my little girl. Do you really think I want to sit 'er down and tell 'er 'er uncle's died because of drugs?"

"At least it would be the truth."

Daddy rubs his face hard. "We spend our lives shielding people…families…from the truth. Why shouldn't we do it for our own daughter? Why can't we wait until she's older? Until she's ready to understand?" He looks up and sees me. "Lucy…" He comes dashing up the stairs and scoops me up into his arms, hugging me close. "'ow long 'ave you been there?"

Usually I love Daddy's hugs, but tonight it's too hot. "Daddy…" I grumble.

"What?" he asks, still hugging me tightly.

"I'm too hot and I can't sleep."

He looks at me, "Do you want a drink?"

"Yes," I nod.

"Ok," he carries me back down the stairs, past Mummy, and into the kitchen. He gets me my Tufty glass and pours me some juice. Then he hands it to me and I sit and drink it and he strokes my hair and when I look up at him, I think that he looks sad.

"Daddy," I ask, handing him my glass, "Are you sad?"

He looks at me and he seems surprised at what I've said. "No Luce," he says, crouching down in front of me, "I'm not sad, I'm just…"

"Just what?" I ask. I don't like it when people don't finish what they're saying.

He smiles and ruffles my hair, "You'll understand one day, love. One day when you've got a little girl of your own." Then he lifts me up into his arms again. "Come on, I'll put you back to bed." He carries me back out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Mummy is still standing at the bottom. I wave at her as we go past. 

She doesn't wave back.


	8. Chapter 8

When I walk back into CID, I feel as though I am walking a bit taller than before. I feel proud of myself for having done it. For flushing the drugs away...for making that choice...for realising that I don't need brown powder. I can live. I can be. Perhaps this won't end up being such a bad trip after all. Perhaps I can be strong. If I can just prevent what I know is destined to happen in two days time...that must be why I'm here.

CID is empty. Mum hasn't returned from her trip to the prison and there is no sign of Ray, Shaz or Chris, but at the far end of the room I can see Dad on the phone in his office, feet up on the desk and, for the first time, I notice the snakeskin boots. He never went anywhere without them and I remember running my fingers over them, marvelling at how they looked and felt. They always seemed so huge to me when I was younger, when I would sit at his feet, when I would worship him...

It is just us...alone...perhaps...perhaps I should say something...anything...I walk over to his office door and stand, watching him through the glass. He sees me, meets my gaze, but doesn't give me any sign, any signal, so I push open the door and step inside, closing it carefully behind me. If I am going to say anything, he should be the only one to hear it.

"Yeah," he's saying to whoever is on the other end of the phone. "Yeah that sounds fine. Yeah, great. No, her mother doesn't know yet." I raise my eyebrows. "Well it'll be too late by then, won't it? Right, thanks a lot." He hangs up and I look at him questioningly.

"Puppy," he says.

"Puppy?"

"Yeah, for our Lucy's birthday next month. Alex doesn't know yet but, oh well."

My breath catches in my throat. My birthday. December 8th. A day that hasn't held any meaning for me for such a long time. I can't remember the last time I celebrated and I often find myself having to think how old I am. Shaz and Chris used to try to make it an occasion, but it was never the same. I want to weep and feel tears spring into my eyes. I remember the conversation, at the dinner table, from all those years ago. I remember it as though it were yesterday... "You were going to buy me a puppy..."

Dad frowns, "What?"

"N...nothing," I stammer. "I'm sure...I'm sure Lucy, your Lucy, will love it."

"She bloody better, cost of the damn things," Dad swings his legs down from the desk and eyes me critically. "I want you to go with Ray and Chris to meet Al James at the Finchley Arms. See what you can learn about today."

"But..." I glance at my watch. "Ray said eleven o'clock."

"So?"

"So it's almost eleven now."

"You'd better get going then, hadn't you?" Dad says, his eyes never leaving mine. "Important meeting after all."

I hold his gaze for a long moment, thinking back over what he had said earlier about protecting me. It was if...as if he knew what I was thinking, what I was all about, why I was here. Maybe I should tell him...maybe he would understand..."You...know?" I ask tentatively.

"Know what?" he asks softly.

"That I..." I pause. How am I supposed to say it? How am I supposed to make the ridiculous seem plausible? I'm your daughter, your Lucy, from fifteen years in the future...you're going to die and I'm here to save you...It is so tempting, because once I tell him the truth, he'll definitely understand and he'll take me in his arms and cuddle me the way he used to and tell me it's going to be all right and...

"Have you got something to say or are you just going to stand there looking like a spaz?" he says loudly and gruffly, instantly pulling me back to the present moment and the task I've been assigned.

"Uh...no," I reply. Now isn't the time. "I'd better..." I gesture to the door.

"Yes," he says, leaning back in his chair. "I rather think you'd better." I turn to leave. "Lucy?"

I turn back, "Yes?"

"Good luck."

XXXX

"Right Lucy-cakes," Daddy says, looking at me across the dinner table. "Birthday next month. What you fancying?" I am so busy stuffing fish fingers in my mouth that my words come out all funny. Daddy cups his hand around his ear. "What was that?"

"Don't speak with your mouth full," Mummy says, putting my drink down in front of me.

I swallow quickly and then take a big slurp of orange juice from my sparkly glass. "Puppy."

"Oh, a puppy," Daddy says, "What do you think about that, Mummy?"

"I think that maybe a puppy isn't a great idea right now," Mummy says. Her voice sounds the way it does when she tells Daddy off sometimes, but she's smiling at me as she talks.

"But I want one," I say.

"I want doesn't always get," Mummy sits down beside me, but she's not eating any dinner. She glances at my plate and looks as though she's about to be sick.

"But..."

"Now now Lucy-cakes," Daddy says, winking at me across the table. "We'll have to see, won't we?"

I giggle and stuff chips into my mouth. 

"Yes," Mummy says, looking at Daddy. "I suppose we will."

I look at Daddy again and he smiles at me. 

Daddy is going to buy me a puppy.

XXXX

The Finchley Arms is the exact opposite of Luigi's. It's like an old man's pub, thick with smoke and smelling like a toilet. I have to hold my breath when I walk in at first and it takes a moment for my eyes to grow accustomed to the dark and gloomy interior. It took me over half an hour to find the place and that was after having to ask a number of random strangers who looked at me as though I was asking the way to Hell. Funnily enough, I can't help but think they were right.

There are only a few other customers, huddled together at tables, and I am struck by how quiet it is. No background noise, no music, nothing. Eventually, I catch sight of Chris and Ray sitting at a table in the far corner, another man with them, his back to me. They are deep in conversation but, as I approach, Chris nudges Ray and he suddenly stops talking, gets to his feet and hurries towards me.

"What the bloody 'ell are you doing 'ere?" he asks, stopping me in my tracks.

"Dad...the Guv...sent me," I reply. "He told me that I should see what I could learn."

"Did 'e now?" Ray says, in a somewhat disbelieving tone, but showing no sign of having picked up on my slip of the tongue. "Well, we're managing fine on our own, thanks very much so you can do one."

"Hang on," I say, as he turns to walk back to the table. "DCI Hunt told me to come here."

"Well 'e shouldn't 'ave!" Ray turned back. "What in Christ's name was 'e thinking?"

I start to feel annoyed at his tone, particularly when he's talking about Dad, so I thrust my hands onto my hips and get into his face. "I don't know, but he told me to come here to meet Mr James and that's what I'm going to do!" I make to move past him, but he blocks my way. "What are you doing?"

"Look...I don't know what the Guv was thinking of sending you 'ere, but you should go back to the station."

I glare at him. I always liked Ray as a child, but now, as an adult, he is starting to piss me off. How dare he question what Dad had said! I'm tempted to shove him, like I would do with anyone who usually pissed me off. Violence may usually be heralded as the last resort but I've found it quite helpful in the past. "Get out of my way!" I declare loudly, before knocking past him and striding over to the table. Chris gets to his feet and looks at me, wide-eyed, before looking back at the man he's sitting with. "Al James, I presume!" I declare, turning to look at him.

Al James doesn't look the least bit surprised to see me, but when I look at him, I feel a sudden rush of shock and I am transported back to another time, another memory, to probably the only time I have ever see Dad upset. I stare at him and he stares at me, before looking to Chris and then back to me again. I want to scream, I want to hug him, I want to... "Uncle Sam..."

"Sorry," Ray is at my back, "I couldn't bloody well stop her."

He hasn't changed. Not one bit. Not from the last time I remember seeing him, only a few months before my parents were killed. We were at his house, his and Aunt Annie's. They had just had twins...two boys...I remember playing with them...we were all laughing and then...then he was gone...

"This is DC Lucy Hunt," I hear Chris saying and Sam looks me up and down.

"No relation," Ray chips in automatically. "Look," he grabs my arm, "you shouldn't bloody be 'ere!"

I wrench it out of his grip and glare at him. "He told me to come here! I don't know how many times I need to bloody well say it but if you make me say it again I'm going to smack you in the mouth!"

"Who did?" Sam asks, drawing my attention back to him.

I want to say 'Dad.' I want to tell him who I am. If there was anyone I could tell about who I really was, surely it would be him. I want to...so badly... "The Guv," I reply. "He...he told me to come." I sit down slowly in a vacant chair beside him. "You're..."

"How do you know my name?"

"Because I know you," I say, "but you're..." I trail off. This isn't right. He died months before they did. How could he be here now? In this place? At this time? "I don't...I don't understand..."

"How can you know him?" Chris asks. "You weren't 'ere then. How can you...?"

"Shut up Chris," Ray says viciously.

"I'm undercover," Sam says quietly, his gaze never leaving mine. "I 'ave been for a while now." I think back to what Dad had said to Mum about Al James. "He's closer to Donnelly than you are to your knickers." But Mum had said she didn't know who Al James was. How could she not know? "I've been gathering information on the recent influx of drugs. Trying to find a way to stop it."

"What the bloody 'ell are you telling 'er for?" Ray asks. "She could be bloody anyone for all you know!"

I open my mouth to reply, but Sam beats me to it. "No," he says, "she isn't." For a moment, we simply look at each other, his face expressionless and yet... "I have to go." He gets to his feet and drains his pint glass. "Tell 'er what I told you." Then he looks at me again, reaches out and gently touches my shoulder. "Good luck Lucy."

I watch as he leaves...my Uncle Sam...my Dad's best friend...not dead at all, but instead very much alive and, unless I had read him wrong, seemingly aware of why I am here. "Wait!" I cry out, making to pursue him, "Uncle Sam!"

I haven't taken more than a few steps after him when I feel a familiar crushing pain in my chest and pitch forward towards the floor. My vision goes...I can barely breathe...and there are voices bleeding through into my brain...

"One, two, three, four, five...one, two, three, four, five...one, two, three, four, five."

"Nothing."

"One, two, three, four, five...one, two, three, four, five..."

"Still nothing. Come on Lucy, come on! Don't do this to us!"

I twist my body wildly, flailing for something to hold on to, but finding only air. I am falling, falling towards the ground and it hits me, harder than I thought imaginable, knocking all the breath out of me.

"One, two, three, four, five..."

"Lucy?"

"One, two, three, four, five..."

"Lucy!"

I feel hands on me, grabbing at me, pulling at my clothes. I feel sick as I roll over onto my back to find misty shapes swirling above me. My head is pounding...I still can't breathe...I try to call out, but I have no air, no words. This is it...I'm going...this has to be it...

XXXX

"Lucy..." Daddy sits down on the carpet beside where I am playing with my dolls. "I need to talk to you about summat."

I look up and notice that Daddy looks sad. I don't like seeing him sad. I like him being happy and playing with me. Sometimes, he'll play with my dolls with me, but then he always pretends as if he hasn't. I thrust one of them at him, but he just takes it and puts it down on the floor.

"It's about your Uncle Sam." Mummy comes into the room and sits down on the couch. She looks sad too and I don't like it. "There was..." Daddy starts to look even sadder. "There was an accident this morning. Uncle Sam...Uncle Sam was driving..."

"Play Daddy!" I say, holding up another dolly. I really don't like Daddy being sad.

"No," he says, "I need to tell you, Lucy. I need to tell you..." he stops talking and I see that he's crying. I look at him and I don't like it.

"Daddy..." He suddenly gets to his feet and moves over to the window, turning his back on me. I look to Mummy and she gets down on the floor beside me and pulls me into her lap. "Why is Daddy sad?" I ask quietly.

"There was an accident," Mummy says, "and Uncle Sam...Uncle Sam died..."

XXXX

"Lucy!"

Suddenly, I am sitting up on the floor of the pub. Suddenly I am breathing. Suddenly I can see clearly and find Ray and Chris crouched in front of me, their expressions concerned, Chris's hand on my arm. Despite my relief, they are not the people I want to see. I need to see Uncle Sam...I need to speak to Uncle Sam...

"Just sit there a minute," Ray is saying, but I ignore him and pull myself to my feet. "Bloody 'ell...sit down!"

"No..." I gasp, my voice raw and scratchy to my ears. "I have to...I have to talk to him."

"'e's already told us everything we need to know!" He grabs my arm and pulls me back. "We've only got a few hours! We need to get back to the station!"

"But..."

"Lucy!" He grabs me by the arm, turns me to face him and shakes me. "Get a bloody grip!"

I stop, look at him and know he's right. In under three hours, Liam Muir will be making his way to his parole hearing and I need to make sure that he doesn't escape custody. It's the first step to ensuring that he won't be able to kill my parents in two days time. I have to do this...I have to save them...I have to save myself.

"Ok," I say quietly, thinking that Uncle Sam, and whatever has been going on, will have to wait. "Ok."


End file.
